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Schwah! lmao, Anyway, as usual your story is well written, but "Now I. I look at the night And it don't seem so lonely. And when I hurt. Hurting runs off my shoulders... Sweet Caroline." <----Kick azz song. Anyway, the song and your fics have one thing in common.... They all KICK AZZ!!!
I hate her. I'm not even sure how I can properly express how angry she makes me other than repeating those three words. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.
Someone told me that if I can't express myself out loud, I should try writing it down. It's why this stupid research journal is filled with tangents than analysis. I don't feel better. I hate how she makes me so angry. I hate what she thinks about me. Why do I even care?
Hello, Professor Rowan! My name is Dawn. I'm eleven years old, and I'm originally from Sandgem, Sinnoh. I am interested in enrolling in your pokémon apprenticeship program.”
Lucas watched the young girl with wide, burning eyes.
“Why do I want to apply for an apprenticeship?” she repeated slowly, careful to pronounce each syllable. “I love pokémon, for starters. I think they're awesome, and we have a lot to learn from them.”
Lucas heard mutters, which made Dawn pause.
“Yeah, I think we have a lot to learn from pokémon as humans. The way they build communities, families – I like the way they interact. Some species have strong family dynamic. Others are able to able to disconnect from each other easily because they separate quickly. It's interesting, don't you think?”
He supposed so.
More mutters off screen.
“What makes a human trustworthy in the eyes of the pokémon?” she repeated. “Hmm ... It's easy for a trainer to pick a pokémon: strength, type, appearance, whatever ... But some pokémon never fully trust their human companions while others would risk everything for them. Interacting with humans sometimes betters the pokémon physically. How is that possible? It makes me–”
A shout: “Who's there!” The lights turned on, making Lucas cringe. He blinked rapidly and turned around in the swivel chair to where the voice called out. He didn't bother to stop the DVD; Dawn's younger self continued to babble.
Breaking in was easy. Whoever said pokémon trainers were an honest, clean bunch was obviously never a pokémon trainer. You learned to steal – food mostly, though toilet paper was a close second. You learned to find haven in dusky corners. You learned that feces make excellent sources of heat when you cannot make fires. You learned to be sneaky. You become a crafty lad. Besides, Lucas had visited Rowan's laboratory so many times that he knew all the weak spots, back doors, and loose ends.
Also, he had a key.
He already knew who it was. The messy, thin white strands that pointed up in different directions, the wrinkled blue pajamas, the pair of buneary slippers ... T'was the Old Fart as Lucas liked to call him (in his head, of course) in his disheveled glory, a mug of something steamy in hand.
“It's me, Professor,” Lucas said. He raised a hand and waved though remained seated. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“No, no. I was up anyway.” The Old Fart walked closer and peered around Lucas, gazing at the television. “Application videos,” he murmured. “What for?” He took a sip of his steamy drink then wiped at his mustache.
He didn't answer. Lucas turned around in his chair back toward the television and stared at Dawn before it faded to black. It was quickly replaced with Lucas's fresh, smiling face. The Lucas on the video shifted awkwardly in his seat, shoulders stiff. His hat was still new – oh, look. There was the price tag swinging from the back as he bobbed his head. Lucas remembered feeling embarrassed when he saw the tag still there five days into his journey. His eyes were bright with wonder. Or dumbness. Or excitement. Something or another.
“I'm Lucas, and I'm eleven years old. I'm originally from Twinleaf, Sinnoh,” the eleven year-old Lucas on T.V. nervously told the fourteen year-old Lucas in real life. He felt Professor Rowan rest one hand on the back of the swivel chair, leaning into it. “I would ... I'd like to apply for your apprenticeship program.”
“Feeling nostalgic?” asked the Old Fart. Lucas heard slurping soon after.
He didn't respond to this either and continued to watch and listen. “You offered me this position after me and Barry were attacked by starly and used the pokémon in your briefcase. Sorry about that again.” The eleven year-old wiped at the back of his neck and grinned wider. “It interested me. I'm sure it would have interested Barry too if he hadn't run off ... Actually, Professor, I'm curious. I mean, keeping a pokémon is one thing but giving me an interview for an apprentice researcher position is just ... nuts.”
That was what the Old Fart was. An old, nutty fart.
“Don't worry about that, Lucas,” answered a voice off screen. “Just answer why you're interested in the program.” The Old Fart's chuckle hadn't changed a bit.
He shifted his cap, letting it sit askew purposely. “Well ... I like pokémon, Professor, a whole lot. Battles are interesting. I like all the strategies. I like all the type differences, the different techniques ...” The eleven year old paused. “But really, I always ... I always dreamed of just being ... of being more than a trainer. I really want to solve things. I want to make a difference somehow. This seems like the perfect opportunity.”
That was totally a beauty contest answer. Lucas stretched over and stopped the video before turning off the television with a sigh.
“It feels like it has been a long time, hasn't it?” asked Professor Rowan. He strolled over and grabbed a nearby stool, plopping himself in it. His face was stern, unmoving.
“Have I changed, Professor?”
“You tell me, Lucas.”
“I was so ... hopeful back then. I had no idea what I was going to go up against, what direction I was headed. Life was simple then. It should have stayed that way for a long, long time.”
Professor Rowan nodded.
“I feel like I did a lot in three years.”
Another nod.
“I mean, I even became champion of Sinnoh. That has to count for something, right?”
A third nod followed by wrinkled fingers running down a chiseled jawline.
“I accomplished what I set myself up for. But why don't I feel proud of myself? I don't believe in myself like I used to. What the hell happened?”
Professor Rowan set his mug on the floor and laced his hands together, setting them down on his lap. “Statistically, Lucas, how many trainers give up on the pokémon league challenge a month after they start their journey?”
“One out of five,” the boy immediately replied. “Then the amount of league-bound trainers decreases – that is, most league-bound trainers may not give up becoming a trainer, but they quit the 'badge quest' route due to monetary, physical, or emotional constraints.”
A tight-lipped grin appeared on the old professor's face. It was solemn, disappointed kind of. “League-bound trainers, even if they do not rank high in the competition, end up becoming some of the most prominent figures in society. Why do you think this is?”
Let the reasons flow. Because they're strong? Obviously. Dedication sounded fitting for the Old Fart's mindset. Confidence – you have to have balls to travel and be on stage in front of millions of viewers. Intelligence. By the time you hit the league, the trainer relies more on strategy and knowledge than dumb luck. God hope so anyway. Then you dive into corny reasons. Love. Trust. Friendship. You know, the BS responses that trainers use when being interviewed with painted grins abroad. He grimaced at that last thought. When had he become so bitter?
“I'm going to go with dedication,” Lucas replied. “If a person is dedicated to a cause, he is going to prepare himself for that cause. He may become faster, stronger, or whatever it takes to accomplish that goal. Everything builds up so long as you are dedicated.”
There was a twinkle in Professor Rowan's eye. It appeared when he was feeling mischievous or when one of his brilliant thoughts came into his head ... or candy, whenever the Old Fart saw candy. “I want you to be truthful, Lucas. You have done great things with your life, and you are only fourteen. You are currently one of Sinnoh's strongest trainers. The pokémon you have reported back to me has been useful with my pokémon evolution research. Your own research in the field of pokémon battle tactics is quite insightful in itself. Single-handed, you managed to wipe out one of the most notorious groups in the world. Were you dedicated to all these causes?”
“I always wanted to be a trainer, Professor.”
“A researcher? A hero?”
There was hesitation. “It's not that I minded the researcher part once I really got into it. I didn't know I would go in that direction, but I did so–”
“A hero? The young child who took down Team Galactic with little help? Did you plan on becoming that person?”
He was bemused. “Well, no. Who plans on becoming that?”
He heard a weird noise slip out between the professor's lips, a mixture between a grunt and a sigh. He watched the old man reach out toward him, like he was going to pat him on the knee, but he withdrew his hand. “It's time you realize that great responsibility is often thrust upon those we trust most. In the process, the trust grows to the point that those who threw that responsibility in the first place believe those persons can do anything. We forget that those we place so high on pedestals are fallible, that they are capable of error, that they are human. So much so that even the person–the hero, the child who wanted to make a difference and was eager to please–starts to forget that, too.
“And by the time he realizes what has happened to him and how much he has changed, he doesn't know how to function without trying to please people, and it bothers him. He teaches this to those who look up to him–out of vengeance, because it's all he knows, what have you–and the pattern repeats. And then, suddenly, you're a sixty year-old man with buneary slippers on his swollen, wrinkly feet while talking to the genius that is the fourteen year-old champion of Sinnoh. And he can't help but wonder how exactly he got here ...”
Lucas watched as the professor trailed off thoughtfully. Clearly the Old Fart was so tired that he was babbling nonsense.
The Old Fart shook his head as he snapped out of his own thoughts. “In the end, Lucas, there are always going to be people that want you to be something you may not have pictured yourself to be. Sometimes it takes another set of eyes to realize the potential that is within. You are going to change – and you have, if you must know. What's important is that when you go to bed, you feel satisfied with who you have become. You're worried. I know. That's okay. That's normal. You don't have to know the answers right away.”
Lucas remained quiet. “I digress,” said the professor after a few seconds of silence. “I will ask you the same question I asked you three years prior, but this time, I want you to really think about it. Who are you, and who do you want to be?”
~ ~ ~
The old cabin looked a lot like Harbor Inn, Lane realized. It had similar windows except these still had the glass intact. There were the red, dusty curtains. There was the jagged, cracked concrete path. And there were the weeds, twisted and gnarled like claws coming up from the depths of hell.
Squish went somewhere – he didn't realize he left until now, actually. Julie was still here, standing next to him. They were looking at a map mounted on a tack board. It was the region of Sinnoh. They were volcano markers, brown triangles tipped with red. According to the legend, each marker was a “burn zone,” which meant that the people in the area were all dead. Canalave had three.
“You shouldn't be here. Go home.”
Lane and Julie turned around. It was a woman, old, wrinkled, and short. She wore a hood. Dry strands of dark hair poked out from below the hood, like twigs.
“Where are we? When did the volcanoes erupt? Class taught us they were dormant!” exclaimed Julie. “My mom and dad live there! My friends!” She gasped, hands reaching down and grabbing Lane's wrist. He felt her nails dig into his skin, but he didn't complain.
Wait. He had family there, too ... But for some reason he kept thinking about pancakes ... Mm, pancakes drenched in butter and maple syrup and whipped cream. Ooh, chocolate chip pancakes with a nice, cold glass of chocolate milk with a straw. Or blueberry pancakes. Yeah, blueberry. Wait! Strawberry! Thick slices of strawberry with powdered sugar!
“You shouldn't be here. Go home,” she repeated, walking toward them. One of her gnarled hands reached forward. Such long nails. There was a color scheme to her nails. One nail was pink, the other blue, the other yellow, then rinse, wash, repeat. The two stepped back.
“Where is ... pancakes?” asked Lane.
“I said GO HOME!” She lunged at them and turned into a dragonite. It was a slow transformation, playing out like an action replay, like when watching a basketball game on T.V. and they replayed the same shot five times at different angles. His dad watched the most boring stuff.
He could hear the bones of the dragonite woman grind, the old, wrinkled skin stretching and turning light brown. How painful it must have been for the wings to erupt from her back. They were wet with goo. She roared. It echoed through the trees. She flapped her wings, creating a breeze. Lane admired her tail and the way she swung it around. Every swing created fire. Holy Arceus, fire! She was the volcano! The burn zone creator!
Julie tugged at his arm and quickly pulled them toward the cabin’s entrance. She let go of Lane's wrist and jiggled the doorknob, but it wouldn't open.
“It's locked!” she screamed.
Lane felt the hot, hot heat at his back. The dragonite took off into the skies, and the sky turned orange from the flames she released from her mouth. He pushed Julie out of the way and used both hands to twist and turn the rusty knob. Nothing. Kicking! Kicking is always the solution! He used his dirty sneaker to kick at the ancient wood, and the door opened with a loud bang. The two quickly rushed inside, and Lane slammed the door shut. The wooden floor was damp and smelled like pee. Something gray and small was quivering in the corner.
“It's Squish!” Julie yelled, pointing with her free hand. “What happened to you?” She went over and dropped onto her knees, poking the squishy thing with her finger. “Are you okay? What's wrong?” she asked worriedly.
The castform responded with a quiver. Lane felt Squish's vibrations with his feet. Thump, thump, thump.
That boy has too much energy. I wish he would be quieter.
Thump, thump, thump.
It's time to get up, Lane.
“Get out of there, you brats!” snarled the dragonite woman. Lane yelped and jumped back as he turned toward the window and saw the beast's angry, yellow eyes glare at him. Smoke poured out between the gaps of her sharp teeth. “You have no idea what you're up against!”
“Julie! Come on! We can't stay here!” he warned. He stepped back and tripped over a loose plank, landing on his bottom with his thud. At his feet was something black and made out of shiny vinyl. He picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers, making an annoying squeaking noise that hurt his ears. Actually, his ears were starting to feel funny. He felt them up. Why did they feel ... bigger?
“Squish? Say something!” she demanded.
Please wake up.
Lane pulled the vinyl thing into his lap and flapped it in the air. It was like a flag ...
This is our flag, our gallant flag
It waves with the ocean breeze.
Canalave be strong as this flag,
The city that greets the open seas!
Although many of us come and go,
We come and then depart,
The spirit of Canalave
remains in all our hearts!
It really wasn't the time to think about the city's flag song. It's funny to replace “hearts” with “farts” by the way.
“Squish!” Lane heard distress in Julie's voice like she was on the brink of crying. “You're not dying, are you?”
Lane!
Lane quickly got up, swung the black vinyl material around his shoulders, and rushed over, hunching over to stare at the castform. The poor thing was breathing heavily now, and its color was draining away, wasting away in a pool of his own color. He picked him up, ignoring the cold liquid that dripped onto his fingers. He patted him on the back, and more colored liquid oozed out.
His eyes twitched at sudden amounts of light hitting him, he swatted at his face when I ran a feather across it ... But he just won't wake up.
“Don't die, Squish!” Julie pleaded, tears forming in her eyes.
We're taking him to the hospital.
Lane turned Squish around. Horrible, blue eyes stared at him, startled him, scared him. He tried to drop Squish, but something sharp dug into his hand and clung onto him. His breath got caught in his throat. He wasn't sure if it was from surprise or pain.
He found his voice. “I ... who are–”
There is obviously something wrong. We're just not sure what.
“Why, Lane!” Squish's adorable squeaks were replaced with a low, gritty voice. “You're not scared, are you?”
“Let him go!” Julie immediately grabbed Squish, tore him away from Lane's hand and threw him against the wall. Squish hit the wall like a wet sponge before flopping onto the floor.
“It's too late, you stupid girl! He's mine!” he shrieked with glee before melting into a pool of gray liquid. White wisps of smoke rose from his body. Those horrible, blue eyes were still there, floating in the liquid. That was the last thing he remembered. Eyes in a pool of black and the screams of a girl, pleading him to stay.
* Waves to breezy* I really enjoyed this chapter, mostly Lucas' cynicism and the stats on failure when attempting the leagues and why. For all the serious contemplating going on I liked the little comedic moments like shouting for pancakes and replacing hearts with farts. I am also imagining trainers wandering around with stolen food and toilet paper hidden on them now.
After backreading and now this latest chapter I'm definitely hooked. ^-^
Breaking in was easy. Whoever said pokemon trainers were a honest, clean bunch was obviously never a pokemon trainer. You learned to steal – food mostly, though toilet paper was a close second. You learned to find haven in dusky corners of forgotten department stores because anything was better than sleeping in the rain. You learned that feces make excellent sources of heat when you cannot make fires (disgusting sources, but sources nonetheless). You learned to be sneaky. You become a crafty lad. Besides, Lucas had visited Rowan's laboratory so many times that he knew all the weak spots, back doors, and loose ends.
No, you beat me to that angle. How do I write about starving trainers without looking unoriginal now?
Let the reasons flow. Because they're strong? Obviously. Dedication sounded right and fitting for the Old Fart's mindset. Confidence – you have to have balls to travel and be on stage in front of millions of viewers. Intelligence. By the time you hit the league, the trainer relies more on strategy and knowledge than dumb luck. God hope so anyway. Then you dive into corny reasons. Love. Trust. Friendship. You know, the BS responses that trainers use when being interviewed with painted grins abroad liked marionettes. He grimaced at that last thought. When had he become so bitter?
An arrangement that pokes out of the story, when most of your circumstances conform to the points you're trying to make. The ideals of confidence and balls and the rest are common enough that we take them mostly seriously, but trust and friendship are clichés of the canon, fanfic writers try not to overstate it. It seems, at least to me, that you could scoff at it without sounding too cynical; the last sentence of the para goes against my train of thought. You might ask other people about it though.
Oh, and the third-last sentence has some grammatical typos. I think 'liked' is the main issue.
The Old Fart shook his head as he snapped out of his own thoughts. “In the end, Lucas, there are always going to be people that want you to be something that you may not have pictured yourself to be. Sometimes it takes another set of eyes to realize the potential that is within. You are going to change – and you have, if you must know. What's important is that when you go to bed, you feel satisfied with who you have become. If not, it may be time for change again.”
Damn. I realize that to this point no one has considered that Lucas still has more than a half-century to live, that the teenage years are where the mind is most flighty and prone to change, and that really the pace at which he's becoming inhuman is too fast to continue his whole life. At this age, everything is a phase (all experience tells me this anyway). Of course seeing it this way sort of breaks the drama of Lucas' psychological issues, but readers should always be good at living in the moment of the story.
About the dream scene, for the sake of screwed-up dream realism. Personal memories of dreams tell me they rarely stick to a point: the flow of thoughts, natural word association, is the flow of dream reality. Specifically what I see is Lane going off on a brief tangent before snapping back to the main problem (charizard or something) as though (a) his subconscious mind is capable of retaining a single topic and understanding that he has to return to it when it gets urgent or (b) the charizard isn't a product of his imagination, and has real power to stay relevant and urgent through his tangents. The first, as far as I know, can't really be; the second might. Or maybe Lane's subconscious and everyone else's is much better at topical relevance than the blubbering heap God gave me.
I anticipate something amazingly freaky for the next dream scene. I recommend this song on association of ideas: 'the shadows blue-red, shadows blue-red, your alarm bells should be ringing"
Woo Breezeh!!! Good chapter. I really liked it.
We start to get a little more on Lucas' personality a bit with the discussion with Rowan. We find out why he's such a **** sometimes. Though I do wonder when the two stories with connect again, and what is going to happen along this line as we just follow Lane in his dreamworld. Though I would guess worried parents waiting on their kid to wake up is a kind of boring thing to write about.
Lane's dream is starting to become somewhat of a nightmare now, still enjoy the little disjointed thoughts in there and random stuff just appearing out of nowhere like they seem to do in real dreams. Though Silneak has a point to the dream part. It seems less disjointed than previous parts of the dreams in earlier chapters. This could be because we're at the real time point of Lane's parents trying to wake him up. We're getting away from the dream and going on to the "dream."
Well, I will earnestly wait for the next chapter; I'm pretty excited.
Jirachiman out ;385;
PS I had more to this, at least i think so, bit I had to rewrite a good part of this because Serebii was a **** to me, and took me to another page before telling me that I didn't post.
Hippos and buneary! It's like the 200000000s all over again. Too many zeros? I like zeros. oooo.
This chapter was a bit shorter, but it was one of the more effective ones. Gee, I say this like I've read all of them, while I'm just basing it on five. Whateverrrr. I adored all the statistics and the gritty realism. You should use this list in future, for epic epics of epicness. And gritty grit of grittiness.
Squish was an evil varmint, which I knew from ze start. Then again, 'twas just a dweam. And then Lane and Julie ran around being crazy dreampeoples and a mad Charizardlady attacked! I love dreams 'cause they is so confoosing. And I really need to get out of this heat...
As for Lucas and Rowan, that was cute, especially the video. No Dawn in this one, but ah weell. I really liked this one.
Err...awkward. I'm a bit late, yes, but I'm finally out of the closet!
*pause*
That came out wrong.
So...I might have mentioned this before, but I pretty much think your writing is awesome.
I was a bit worried when you finished HLBMA. It always stayed in the back of my brain that you might have been burned out after finally being done with such a large project, but as this piece of writing still shows, you've still got it.
I like the unique narration style - or styles. It's a creative blend with the scope of third-person omniscient, but with the distinct flavoring of very well-written first person narrative. You capture perfectly the nuances of Lane's childishness, the Eldritch parents' fatigue and worry for their son, Dawn's bubbly cheer...and then there's Lucas.
Omigosh, Lucas.
Your depiction of Lucas is one of the best and probably one of the most realistic alternative interpretations for a character I've ever read - especially as one who experienced the events that take place in the games' plotline. Usually, when a writer makes a canon character Champion, things quickly start to cross over into Sue territory. Lucas' depiction as a cynic who doesn't quite see the point of all of his previous achievements gives a very nice flavor to the story but doesn't go over the top. Even more interesting are his interactions with Dawn. It takes a truly gifted writer to make a conversation between acquaintances border on something akin to a psychological chess match, with each trying to deeply analyze the other even as they try to carry on small talk. Sprinkle in the slightest dash of potential attraction - at least on one side - and you've got a very dynamic pair of characters. I look forward to seeing what you'll do with them in future chapters.
It's nice to see that after all these years you haven't lost your offbeat humor, even as your writings start to venture into darker territory.
Oh, and the dream sequences make next to absolutely no freaking sense. Good job.
* Waves to breezy* I really enjoyed this chapter, mostly Lucas' cynicism and the stats on failure when attempting the leagues and why. For all the serious contemplating going on I liked the little comedic moments like shouting for pancakes and replacing hearts with farts. I am also imagining trainers wandering around with stolen food and toilet paper hidden on them now.
After backreading and now this latest chapter I'm definitely hooked. ^-^
An arrangement that pokes out of the story, when most of your circumstances conform to the points you're trying to make. ... It seems, at least to me, that you could scoff at it without sounding too cynical; the last sentence of the para goes against my train of thought. You might ask other people about it though.
Oh, and the third-last sentence has some grammatical typos. I think 'liked' is the main issue.
It might depend on how each particular reader interprets my interpretation of Lucas ... if that's not confusing. I added in that "when had he become so bitter?" since he was reflecting on earlier times and how much happier but naive he was then. Of course, I do agree and see that paragraph working without that last sentence. Mm, I'll think about omitting it or not. =P And I will fix that error!
Damn. I realize that to this point no one has considered that Lucas still has more than a half-century to live, that the teenage years are where the mind is most flighty and prone to change, and that really the pace at which he's becoming inhuman is too fast to continue his whole life. At this age, everything is a phase (all experience tells me this anyway). Of course seeing it this way sort of breaks the drama of Lucas' psychological issues, but readers should always be good at living in the moment of the story.
I'm actually not sure what you mean by this and if it is just personal musing on the paragraph you quoted or some sort of criticism. If you can clarify it, it'd be much appreciated.
... Or maybe Lane's subconscious and everyone else's is much better at topical relevance than the blubbering heap God gave me.
I was a bit skeptical on the dream segment this time for the exact reasons you stated -- it did seem a bit jarring considering dreams to flow and transition into each other smoothly, though I did have dreams where I had random thought shoved in that related to things happening in real life.
... =)
Thanks for the song suggestion! Needed something freaky to listen to for future dream sequences. And thanks for that insightful commentary as well.
Woo Breezeh!!! Good chapter. I really liked it.
We start to get a little more on Lucas' personality a bit with the discussion with Rowan. We find out why he's such a **** sometimes. Though I do wonder when the two stories with connect again, and what is going to happen along this line as we just follow Lane in his dreamworld. Though I would guess worried parents waiting on their kid to wake up is a kind of boring thing to write about.
I've been trying to reconnect the Eldritch/Alyson characters into the lineup, and they are planned to be in the next chapter. Alyson at least. Lucas and Dawn probably not as much. Lane ... or at least Lane's dreams, yeah. Pretend that made sense. I actually broke the characters up into three stories since they all are a bit complex (though yeah, you can easily merge Lucas and Dawn with Eldritch and Alyson and do a real world/dream world story break up).
This chapter was a bit shorter, but it was one of the more effective ones. Gee, I say this like I've read all of them, while I'm just basing it on five. Whateverrrr. I adored all the statistics and the gritty realism. You should use this list in future, for epic epics of epicness. And gritty grit of grittiness.
Lol, thanks for that list. Fun to read. XP I'll see what I can do.
Squish was an evil varmint, which I knew from ze start. Then again, 'twas just a dweam. And then Lane and Julie ran around being crazy dreampeoples and a mad Charizardlady attacked! I love dreams 'cause they is so confoosing. And I really need to get out of this heat...
I was a bit worried when you finished HLBMA. It always stayed in the back of my brain that you might have been burned out after finally being done with such a large project, but as this piece of writing still shows, you've still got it.
Yeah, the reason why I didn't jump into HLBMA's sequel was because I knew I'd get burned out. I love Brendan and May, but holy crap was I sick of them and that storyline. It was time for a change, at least character wise. So by the time I finish this story, I'm sure I'll be sick of Dawn and Lucas and ready to tackle the supposed sequel. =P
You capture perfectly the nuances of Lane's childishness, the Eldritch parents' fatigue and worry for their son, Dawn's bubbly cheer...and then there's Lucas.
Lulz that's the name of one of my one-shots. "And then there's Lucas" or something like that. I actually like the versatility of Lucas and his relation to the game. If he's not the player, I interpreted him as someone shy and scared to leave since he's usually in the Sandgem area or areas near it), and if he is the player character who went through such crazy crap, I figure he'd be somewhat ... disturbed. You could probably do the same with Dawn, but much more girlier. Haha.
Even more interesting are his interactions with Dawn. It takes a truly gifted writer to make a conversation between acquaintances border on something akin to a psychological chess match, with each trying to deeply analyze the other even as they try to carry on small talk. Sprinkle in the slightest dash of potential attraction - at least on one side - and you've got a very dynamic pair of characters.
That probably comes from my burn out on Brendan and May, who are a lot more shallow in my interpretation of them, than Dawn and Lucas, who I saw more as researchers than trainers. That dinner scene was actually my favorite part to write because of all the supposed underlying message that each character somehow picked up. Or an ulterior motive behind saying something simple like, "Want to get dinner?"
It's nice to see that after all these years you haven't lost your offbeat humor, even as your writings start to venture into darker territory
I'm actually not sure what you mean by this and if it is just personal musing on the paragraph you quoted or some sort of criticism. If you can clarify it, it'd be much appreciated.
Personal musing. I couldn't possibly be so useful that I'd give actual criticism. On one hand Lucas's mind is much more developed than we're used to, and what I said earlier about minds being able to follow their own courses should apply, but on the other hand he is fourteen. If anything, it was kinda ninja that the story could manipulate my thoughts well enough that I completely missed that fact.
There are two types of people in this world: men and women.
I think I was going somewhere with this. I don't remember what. Something
~ ~ ~ Chapter Seven
~ ~ ~
I think a lot of my problems stem from my desire to control things. I'm not sure if I was always like this. Organizing your dolls by use, then height, then name ... would you consider that neurotic? It made sense to me as a child. But anyway ... It gave me a great sense of comfort knowing what was going to happen every day. I felt secure that way. I mean, of course I can handle unpredictability – I have a child for Arceus's sake. It's just ... Well, those little unpredictable moments become bigger ones, and everything starts to spiral into something I can't get a handhold on. It's nice when you have a say in what happens to you.
My first pokémon was a glameow. I named her Fuchsia. She ran away – no, I don't know why. We were okay, I think. I just became a trainer, so we weren't that close. The night before she ran away, she was curled up on top of my sleeping bag, and when I woke up, she was gone. No trace of Fuchsia anywhere. I had captured a couple of pokémon by that time, so I wasn't completely alone, but ... Why did she do that? She didn't seem unhappy. I treated her well, made sure she was well-fed, protected. I guess ... I don't know. That's the downfall with people that plan their day like that. When the unexpected happens – no, when something happens that you can't tangibly fix, you get really angry at yourself. You begin to wonder that 'what if?' What if I kept Fuchsia in her pokéball that night? Things like that.
You know, Lane was a surprise. I was only twenty; Dan was twenty-two. Dan ... That's Eldritch's first name, you know. Daniel Christopher Elijah Eldritch. Elijah is his middle name. He goes by Eldritch because he thinks his first name is too long and doesn’t fit him and something to do with him being a sailor. I think he made up that last point.
Dan was out on business. I say business instead of sea. It might be a stability thing. Seas are unpredictable. This city is surrounded by it. Mother Nature throws you off just because she can. Let's, you know, throw a hurricane at you. Some lightning storms. How about snow? Business, though? That means there's a certain amount of days between when I see him and when I don't. It's concrete. There’s structure in that word, business.
Well, Dan was out on business. I wasn't feeling all that well, especially in the morning. So I took the test. You know ... the test. It was positive. I took another. It was positive, too. Then another. Negative. Turns out it was a false negative. Have you heard of such a thing? Apparently it happens if you take the test too late in the day or if you leave it on the counter for too long. Probably other factors that I can't remember. The point is that I was unmarried, though deeply in love–or so I thought back then–and young and pregnant. I hadn't planned on marrying and having a child until years later. I still had other plans before I could even think about that. Dan had other plans, too. It wasn’t like we just started dating, me and Dan. We dated for a while before I got pregnant. We were as serious as you could be when you’re in your early twenties and in a relationship.
I remember the day well. The day I told Dan, I mean. He just got back from his trip, and all he wanted to do was drink a beer and sleep. I couldn't wait. I told him, right there, right then, when he was shifting through the fridge. Just straight out with it, Aly. He's a man. He can take it. To this day, I'm not sure if he blacked out from exhaustion or my news.
“What are we going to do, Aly?” he asked when he regained consciousness. “This apartment is too cramped for a baby, I'm out of town all the time – and Arceus, do you know how much it'll cost to raise a baby? How is this going to work? What if we don't work out?” I got upset. Hormones? I don't know. I got upset that he didn't seem concerned about, well, me. I was the one carrying our child. He didn't ask how I was doing, if I needed anything. I know he cares ... Just ... All that time alone, you need some attention.
He offered to marry me. He had obligations now, he knew that. So he offered. And, desperate, I accepted. I knew I loved him, don't get me wrong; there was love. There is love, somewhere.
We made adjustments, had a quicky marriage ceremony at city hall. I settled into his apartment. I quit university. We only had so much time, and we needed money, so I had to work full time. School will always be there, I told myself. What's important now is to create stability. Dan took more jobs at sea, whether it was to get away for a bit or because we needed the money, I don't know. He cares. He's a good man, don't get me wrong. But while I was pregnant, I felt so alone when it shouldn't have been that way. It should have been a special time, my first pregnancy.
Near the end of my pregnancy, Dan was assigned to aid the locals of the Sevii Islands who had been hit with a hurricane. I told him to take it – he was going to refuse, take sick days, vacation days, because he knew I was going into labor soon. We needed it, though. We needed the money. The trip should only be a week, ten days tops. I wasn't expected to go into labor.
You know me by now. Everything spirals out of my control. My family–my mom, my dad, my siblings–live in Kanto. So I was alone, holding that little baby boy in my arms. Crying.
The expectation is that your mother is perfect. That she can do no wrong. That she holds little to no fault, no negativity running through her body. I get it. When you shatter that illusion, then who do you turn to for stability? For strength? The person who makes you feel safe? It's hard, though. Sometimes she is resentful. Bitter. I'm not talking about being angry about, let's say, her child trespassing into a rundown shanty. She's just bitter about ...
Okay.
I'll stop pussyfooting around.
Sometimes, late at night, when I'm lying in bed, I think about what could have happened to me if I didn’t get pregnant at the age I did. I could have been so much more than a housewife. I blame Dan. It's terrible. And sometimes I get angry with Lane, too.
It's the situation, not the people. I can't blame the people involved; they had no say in the situation either. I can't help it, though. I can't control things. The one thing I thought I had a good handle on–that one little boy I had a substantial influence over–was suddenly ... ripped from my hands, and no one can figure out the reason why, and I get so mad.
A mother's greatest desire is to tell her child that everything is going to be okay. That, despite the hardship and the things we can't control, we'll make it through. You never want to tell them, “I don't know,” to the things that truly matter.
Some people are born to be good mothers. The rest emulate. A few fail.
Something grabbed at her shoulder. She recognized it as Eldritch's calloused hand. “Aly, what the hell is going on?” he demanded.
Alyson, about to press a slender hand against the glass window, bit her lip. She watched as nurses hurriedly ran to and fro in her son's hospital room. Lane's heart monitor was beeping crazily. She felt his hand tense up on her shoulder. She wanted to cry.
“I don't know.”
~ ~ ~
The sidewalk was damp from last night's storm.
“It is quite the chilly day, Darach.” Lady Caitlin shivered and wrapped her fur coat tighter around her petite frame. She ran her fingers through the soft, white pelt.
Darach gave her a nod. He took grander strides to be slightly ahead of his mistress and gently wrapped a hand around her slender forearm. “Be careful with the puddles, Lady Caitlin. I would hate to see you slip.”
She laughed. It wasn't loud and overbearing but quiet and sweet. It left a delicate ringing in his ears. “You are being ridiculous, Darach. I do not slip no matter what the terrain.” To prove her point, she stepped over a puddle, her pink high heels clicking on the concrete. “You worry about me too much.”
“I wish not to see you hurt, my lady,” he replied.
Lady Caitlin patted Darach's hand reassuringly before locking arms with him, her other hand playing with the folds of her pink dress. She looked up, gray sky reflecting in her eyes. “I do hope it does not rain before we get there.” An umbrella blocked her vision. “Oh, Darach.” She smiled.
“It is never too late to be careful.”
“I suppose so.”
They approached the library and entered. The two sat down at a couple of computers and turned their chairs to face the glass wall. On the other side of the glass were tombstones barely lit by crackling, swinging bulbs hung from the ceiling.
“I hope he burns,” she whispered maliciously.
“We must move the crayon boxes first, my lady,” said Darach.
Darach helped Lady Caitlin pick up her box of crayons, and they moved to another set of computers. He placed each set on the top of each monitor.
“Burn the clown!” were the cheers.
“He has done nothing but rob us of our burgers!” yelled another.
Flames. Flames licked the glass panel. The cheers were deafening. The words etched on the clown's tombstone stood out against the fire.
~ ~ ~
Lucas slammed his notebook shut, hearing his pencil clatter to the linoleum floor but not caring enough to run back and pick it up. He heard screams. If there was one thing he knew, it was screams–especially girly screams–coming from the middle of nowhere late at night meant something horrible was happening. Of course running to the problem area was indeed moronic, but he couldn't help it. Actually, no, that's a lie, but who doesn't like a good damsel-in-distress story? So burst through the glass doors, Lucas. Run into the cold, bitter Sinnoh night like the moron you are.
He sighed, the frays of his scarf twisting behind him.
You know, there was a sociolingustic study (that's there sociology and linguistics merged into one handy, possibly made-up, word. Useful to know, yes?) Lucas had read in attempt to learn better communication skills. It had to do with the way men and women speak. If he remembered right, it boiled down to the general personality of boys versus girls. Boys tend to play more competitively, girls more cooperatively. When there's conflict within a girl group, the group splits in order to avoid argumentation. Boys, on the other hand, rank in hierarchy.
Break it down through your pants of breath. Communication is the balance between level of involvement and level of independence. Given what we know, the woman is more likely to lean to the involvement side of communication while the man is more independent.
Draw more conclusions. The “fairer” gender is more cooperative, which leads toward a tendency for more involvement – more back and forth between the two conversing parties, more than “simple storytelling.” They listen to tone, timing, intonation – it's not just the words. Meta-messaging is what it's called if he recalled right. Take “mhm” for example. “Mhm” doesn't mean they agree with you. No, it might mean she doesn't agree with you, but she acknowledges what you said. It's an easier way, at least to the woman, to say, “I acknowledge your argument, but I think it's an idiotic argument.” Men don't do that. They just want the story. They say what they mean. Women are more indirect. She picks up on things in the actual phrasing and delivery. It's all “dramatize” versus “summarize” really. Barry summed it up best:
“You see, Lucas, when you text a question to a girl who you recently had a fight with, and she texts back, 'Okay.', she's not 'okay.' That one word holds all her RAGE. She pounded all her anger into that period...
“No pun intended.”
Anyway, that was a good time killer. He stopped a few feet behind the screaming source, a hand wrapped around one of the pokéballs clipped on his belt. The wind swept down the beaten path, combing its way through the foliage.
It was the girl, the stupid girl, with her piplup clinging onto her ankles and looking up her skirt.
“Arceus,” he muttered. He walked over, stood next to her, and looked down, staring at what she was so wide-eyed about. The three-foot high bibarel was growling at her, teeth bared (not that it could hide them), and heavy tail smacking the dirt trail. Goddamn was he annoyed. “What did you do?”
She didn't respond and turned her head, hair brushing past her shoulder and falling behind her back in black, layered waves.
Lucas scuffed the dirt with his sneaker, sending up a dust cloud that floated toward the bibarel. Bibarel were common, known for their sharp teeth and their ability to cut through trees in a matter of minutes. They used these trees to create dams. It's a versatile pokémon, given its ability to walk on land and swim in rivers, and it is usually a gentle, quiet breed. The time made no sense; bibarel are diurnal. But this one stayed, glared at Dawn with its beady, little eyes, and snarled.
“Nothing,” she finally replied.
Nothing means something. Pick up on the tone: irritated, with a gasp of exasperation. Definitely something.
“At least move.”
She move back, and the bibarel growled louder and stepped forward, making Dawn and Pip stop.
He noticed the splintered wood to the side of the road. She probably stepped on the pile the bibarel had gathered, which probably woke up the sleeping creature nestled in that crushed bush over there.
Well, if the thing wasn't going to leave, and she refused to do anything, he would have to take it up another notch. Lucas unhooked the pokéball grasped in his hand, pressed the button, and felt the ball enlarge to the size of an orange.
“I'm fine,” she muttered. A low tone. The “f” sound–labiodental, if he remembered right–was extended longer than usual, her front teeth pressed against her wind-chapped lips.
He didn't believe her, so he released the creature within the ball to the side.
“I said I'm FINE!” she screeched, pounding her boot into the ground.
The torterra, a peaceful breed. A stationary creature, one who enjoys sunlight. The starly often make nests within the makeshift shelter on its heavy shell. His, in particular, was lazy. A daydreamer. Liked to stare at things. Questioned said things. They held many a philosophical conversation through intense staring and rapid blinking. They made an odd duo, given Lucas's down-to-earth persona and his torterra's lofty, dream-like state, though he figured something more eccentric, like Dawn's piplup who currently was trying to paw up his trainer's leg, would have driven him crazy.
Lazy, indeed. His torterra started his assault by glancing at the bibarel before looking up toward the moon, obviously not interested and obviously not threatened by it. A questionable gaze of “What?” A “You woke me up for this?” A “Goddammit so much, Lucas.” A turn of the head. “Who's the chick? Your girlfriend?” Whether or not his torterra actually thought those things, he didn't know. Lucas imagined he was pretty close, though.
“Mind escorting this bibarel out, Torterra?”
The torterra grunted. He could imagine the “Why?” in his eyes.
“Just do it.”
The beast lifted a heavy foot and stomped. It startled the bibarel, but the beaver stood its ground, switching his attention toward Lucas's pokémon much to Dawn's dismay (but secret relief, he imagined. Women need their secrets in order to meet their daily crazy quota). The torterra shook his body, and a few leaves dislodged themselves from the tree on his back, spiraling gently toward the ground. The bibarel stared at them as they landed in front of his feet and, with another beat of his tail, turned around and brushed through the growth.
They stood there quite awkwardly (well, not that she's awkward or anything. Lucas is the awkward one. She was the beauty in the beauty-geek dynamic. Had this been one of her fabulous stories she fantasized about in her head all the time, he would be hiding his deep, eternal love for her, and she, coy and sweet, would pretend not to know that she knew that he liked her (though she did know, but that's beside the point. It's cuter when you pretend you don't know. She figured it was some sort of defensive move, like just in case the guy actually didn't like her. But that's silly talk; who doesn't like her?), and, at the end of her fabulous story, he would, in that stuttered, muttered tone he uses, confess, and she would confess she loves a geek, and they would skip into the sunset. She would also steal his hat and wear it because teasing is cute, too. AND THEN, many years later, they would have three kids, two boys, one girl, the girl being the youngest and – you've heard this before, right?) for a while. Dawn looked at Lucas, Lucas looked at Torterra, Torterra looked at the moon, and Pip, who Dawn had picked up after a few unsuccessful attempts at clawing up her leg, looked down her shirt.
“I was fine, you know,” she muttered.
“I know. I just thought I'd help out,” he murmured back.
Dawn wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as the nippy wind blew. “What was that move anyway?”
There was a small pause before he responded. “I invented it. It's a mixture between Sweet Scent and Razor Leaf. Think of it as a two-step attack. The pokémon sends out a few leaves that entices the opponent with its sweet-smelling aroma and the alluring way it twirls toward the ground. The pokémon has the ability to then make the leaves shoot up toward the unsuspecting opponent. Lucky for the bibarel, Torterra didn't have to initiate step two. It probably would have made it more aggressive.”
“I ... really?” she asked curiously.
He groaned. “No. Don't be stupid. Torterra shook his back, leaves from his tree were loosened and fell down, and lo behold: it ran away.” He returned his sleepy torterra and sighed, clipping the ball back to his belt. “Really, battling a wild pokémon, specifically one who is timid but was putting on a show in hopes to make you run–which you didn't for some reason; god only knows why–is quite a complicated procedure.”
“Well, I thought battling back would further agitate–”
“You thought wrong.”
Dawn didn't reply. She was too angry to respond. He didn't even deserve a response after that.
Lucas translated it as being completely dumbfounded. “What are you doing here anyway?” he asked.
“I was going home before I stepped on that ... twig pile the bibarel had piled up.” So he was right. “I live in Sandgem, remember?” She looked past Lucas and down the grainy path where Lucas had come from. “You came from there, from Sandgem. You don't live there. Why?”
“Why don't I live there?” he repeated slowly. “Well, I figured my mom was all, 'I hope my future son holds this awkward conversation with Rowan's other, more annoying, apprentice years later down the route between Twinleaf and Sandgem. But we can't live in Sandgem in order to initiate that conversation, so Twinleaf it is!' All purpose, all meaning, revolves around you if you really try.”
“Stop being such a smart-butt. You know what I mean.”
“I was there for business. I was heading back to Twinleaf.”
“Business”–Dawn checked the time on her pokétch strapped to her bag–“ten minutes past midnight, huh? Right. Well, I won't stop you. Good night.”
“Good night.”
And there it was: the subtle brush against his shoulder that ALMOST made him step backward as she walked past him. He heard it, the huff, that gasp of breath. Then there was the scuff of her boot on the sand.
Translation: You're an ass. Or a smart-butt to use her lingo.
Lucas spun around and stared at the girl's figure as she traveled toward Sandgem. She walked against the wind, shivering. Pip nudged the top of his head against her chin and chirped sympathetically. She found her feet dragging, her knees tightening up, and then she just ... stopped. After sitting alone at the café for a good thirty minutes or so, she realized that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to accuse Lucas of becoming the younger version of the most diabolical man in recent Sinnoh history. But at the same time ... darn, she was mad at him. Who just gets up and walks away in the middle of a conversation? She wanted an apology, and she wasn't leaving until she got one.
“I'm not apologizing if that's what you're waiting for.”
Dawn unhooked a pokéball from her bag's strap. There was a flash of red; she returned her piplup. “I know that,” she lied. With her free hands, she reached behind and laced her fingers behind her neck. It was a nonchalant position; she wanted to look cool despite the anger building up inside her.
“So go home.”
Her nostrils flared. “You’re such a jerk.”
“Doesn’t mean my point isn’t valid.”
“You know, I thought more about you when you left.”
He rolled his eyes. Dawn crossed her right foot over her left and twisted her body in order to face Lucas. Her hands were still behind her neck, elbows extended out. It was actually kind of creepy how she made a complete 180 turn without the rest of her body moving, like a bad, bad, horror movie except the deranged lunatic wielding the fiery chainsaw was also the scream queen who died second to last ... or survived and became the star of the direct-to-DVD sequel.
“You know,” Dawn began, dropping her arms and letting them swing back and forth. She looked up, examining the sky filled with winking stars. “My intention behind that conversation earlier wasn't meant to hurt you, or to 'experiment,' or whatever you said. Ever since you came back three weeks ago, I could tell you were some lonely kid who, as brilliant as he is, was confused about the situations he was thrown into.”
She held out her hand as soon as Lucas started to open his mouth. “Let me finish. Because of what you went through, you find it hard to trust people, and you hate it when people try to get close – and trust me; I know this from first-hand experience.”
Closer and closer she inched toward him – the swing of her hips, the crunching of pebbles underneath her size five-and-a-half boots. She poked her pointer finger into Lucas's chest. “You became hardened from your journey to the top. That cute eleven year-old who forgot to rip out the tags of his favorite hat up there is long gone. He's almost robotic now in order to protect himself. He'll complete the missions set out by others without being emotionally invested. Yeah?”
Lucas felt a smirk come across his face. He had no idea why he felt cocky all of a sudden. “You think you have me figured out that easily? You think you can figure me out in one night while sitting in a café, sipping a semi-cold hot chocolate?”
“Oh, pretend all you want. Keep thinking that you're this cynical, sarcastic person that no one understands if it helps you feel superior. I'm good at my study. It took me a while, but I think I have you figured out.” Dawn started to walk around him slowly, hands clasped behind her, back slightly hunched.
He watched her circle him like a bird of prey, arms crossed. Maybe it was his fatigued state, maybe it was intrigue, dunno – all he knew was that something seemed attractive – no, that's a horrible word in regards to Dawn. Something about the conversation made him want to stay, feet firm on the ground. Yes, it was the conversation that made him stay. Nothing else.
“Do you now?” he asked. “Enlighten me.”
She stopped in front of him. “You’re a complicated person with an even more complicated past. Honestly, I felt sad for you. I can't imagine what it's like to be near friendless. I wanted to help you. There's something about that hurt, wounded puppy look you send out that makes a girl want to hug you, even if you don't like it. I wanted to make you happy.”
Dawn looked him up and down. She stepped closer; he could feel her hot breath against his face. She raised an eyebrow. “But now ... now I just think you’re a tool.”
She smiled at the way he stepped back, caught off-guard. “I know you’ve been hurt. I understand you don’t entirely trust people because of all you’ve been through, and I sympathize as much as I can with that. But riddle me this: everyone is trying to hurt you, Lucas? Everyone? Such a narcissist. ‘All purpose, all meaning, revolves around you if you really try.’ Negative attention is better than no attention, right?”
He glared at her but she wasn’t intimated.
“How classic,” she added. “You're like a three year-old.”
Lucas pocketed his hands, wiggling his fingers around the balls of lint. He remained quiet for a while, running his tongue against his teeth. “You talk a lot,” he finally said.
“Yeah.” She smiled. Their faces were only a few inches away from each other. She looked up at him through her thick eyelashes. He noticed her slightly wrinkled nose. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, you know.”
“But who wants to attract pests?” He grinned back, blinking back tiredness, concentrating on shifting the tension in his body to the balled fists in his pockets. “I think we're done here. Go home.”
A slight cock of her head – her left barrette caught the light of the moon and glinted. “Fine. I'll see you tomorrow at the hospital.”
It took him a while to gather his thoughts, opening and closing his mouth. “I said I wasn't coming back,” he finally managed to mutter out loud. His voice cracked at the end, and he visibly flinched.
This only made Dawn's grin widen. “Oh, we both know that's not true. You see, because of this conversation, I'm in your head. I threw down a gauntlet, and now your silly, determined self has to prove you’re not a tool.” She pulled off his hat and twirled a finger around a lock of his hair, making him frown. She tugged on it and pulled him closer, making him inhale sharply. “Not that I wasn't already, I bet.” Her breath was hot on his lips. “And if you don't come tomorrow, I'm not going to be leaving your head, and I know that's going to drive you crazy. There – an excuse to stay, if it makes you feel better. So I'll see you tomorrow, hmm?” She released his hair from his grip, recapped his head, and turned on her heels, sand gritting underneath her feet. She headed toward Sandgem, her right hand lazily waving goodbye. “Good night, Lucas,” she said in a dreamy voice.
That manipulative ...
He pulled a hand out and firmly pulled on the lid of his hat, letting the brim partially hide his eyes. No, she was wrong. He was leaving. He didn't need her. She's just some annoying, little brat who made quick generalizations based on one day. She's just some girl who ....
Who ...
Goddammit so much.
With that, Lucas threw his hands up, resting them on the top of his head, and watched Dawn's figure become a black silhouette, then nothing.
Is it all right to like your fic so much? I can't critique or feel irritated at the pacing or anything; it's probably because of how much better you are at this than I can work out. I'm just happy to have more of Lull to read. I'm so sorry for the brainless praise that has to ensue now. I will try to offer you nitpicks. w00t, infuriatingly small nitpicks!
Lucas scuffed the dirt with his sneaker, sending up a dust cloud that floated toward the bibarel. Bibarel were common, known for their sharp teeth, which effectively cuts through trees. They use these trees to create dams. It is a versatile pokémon, given its ability to walk on land and swim in rivers, and usually a gentle, quiet breed that keep to themselves. The sound of unknown footsteps usually makes them scurry away. Someone gently kicking dirt at them was a sure fire way to make them run. The time made no sense either; bibarel are diurnal. But this one stayed, glared at Dawn with its beady, little eyes, and snarled.
Tense seems to work, but the plurals are a bit wonky in this one. The errors are pretty easy to spot, I think, from the words I've bolded. Really this whole passage is a little awkward to me: short bits of spontaneous exposition, unbalanced sentences -- it would flow a lot better if you didn't change tense and number quite so often, as grammatically correct as it is.
The torterra, a peaceful breed. A stationary creature, one who enjoys sunlight. The starly often make nests within the make-shift shelter on its heavy shell. His, in particular, was lazy. A daydreamer. Liked to stare at things. Questioned it.
The pronoun is a mystery to me. o.o Questioned what? Torterra being pokémon I favour, though, this description is fun. I want one for myself.
The beast lifted a heavy foot and stomped. It startled the bibarel, but it stood its ground, switching his attention toward Lucas' pokémon much to Dawn's dismay (but secret relief. Women need their secrets in order to meet their daily crazy quota).
Pronoun's easy to guess from context, but it continues to give the impression that the torterra stood its ground, despite the reader's better judgment. Your choice, I think; any other subject to replace this one might sound awkward.
I was about to say: most grammar guides I read (not that I read near enough) seem to find periods in the middle of parantheses iffy, unless the paranthetical text is a sentence/passage of its own. Then I read the parantheses in the next paragraph. I apologize; there is deliberate intent there.
It'd be rather cool if this was deliberate:
“[...]Think of it as a two-step attack. The pokémon sends out a few leaves that entices the opponent with its sweet-smelling aroma and the alluring way it twirls toward the ground. The pokémon then has the ability to then make the leaves shoot up toward the unsuspecting opponent.”
and I'm starting to suspect it is: making up a perfect exposition-description in conversation on the spot is nigh impossible, and slips like these are very likely, but it's so rare to see this implemented in story dialogue.
Obligatory mention of the composition in the first scene -- the general introspection hardening into very distinct self-judgment. In retrospect, do you think the three paras outside her stream of consciousness (right at the end) might need some designation in the formatting? The change in person and tense and situation and all may or may not be jarring without some sign to set the passage off from the rest of the scene. I think it could go either way.
Furthermore, where do you get the associations for the dream sequences? Some of them are pure genius.
I will not comment on the last scene. The divide between my mind and the level of character interaction in this aftermath is too wide.
Sorry for the late response. Been busy all week. x_X
Luphinid Silnaek said:
Is it all right to like your fic so much? I can't critique or feel irritated at the pacing or anything; it's probably because of how much better you are at this than I can work out. I'm just happy to have more of Lull to read. I'm so sorry for the brainless praise that has to ensue now. I will try to offer you nitpicks. w00t, infuriatingly small nitpicks!
Of course it's all right. In fact I recommend you like it more. You know, for safety reasons.
Tense seems to work, but the plurals are a bit wonky in this one. The errors are pretty easy to spot, I think, from the words I've bolded. Really this whole passage is a little awkward to me: short bits of spontaneous exposition, unbalanced sentences -- it would flow a lot better if you didn't change tense and number quite so often, as grammatically correct as it is.
I agree that it is wonky, though I do think it's both a plural and tense problem. Actually, I'm not sure why I didn't try editing it for clarity's sake ...
The pronoun is a mystery to me. o.o Questioned what?
Pronoun's easy to guess from context, but it continues to give the impression that the torterra stood its ground, despite the reader's better judgment. Your choice, I think; any other subject to replace this one might sound awkward.
Yeah, I can see how it can be confusing, so I'll change it up.
I was about to say: most grammar guides I read (not that I read near enough) seem to find periods in the middle of parantheses iffy, unless the paranthetical text is a sentence/passage of its own. Then I read the parantheses in the next paragraph. I apologize; there is deliberate intent there.
Technically, yeah, you're not suppose to use a period within parantheses if it's not its own sentence. The sentence you quoted here can probably be retweaked so it can become its own sentence (or I can just make the period a dash or something).
“[...]Think of it as a two-step attack. The pokémon sends out a few leaves that entices the opponent with its sweet-smelling aroma and the alluring way it twirls toward the ground. The pokémon then has the ability to then make the leaves shoot up toward the unsuspecting opponent.”
and I'm starting to suspect it is: making up a perfect exposition-description in conversation on the spot is nigh impossible, and slips like these are very likely, but it's so rare to see this implemented in story dialogue.
I'll take out the ridiculous amount of "then"'s I have here, but I'm not sure what's wrong with "entices". Is it a definition fail on my part or should it just be "entice" instead?
And is it? Given I've never had to create an attack on the top of my head in real life, but the parallel to it (fabricating a complex story on the spot, I figure) seems relatively easy to do, especially if you're feeling super sarcastic, like Lucas here, and in my head, he seems like a person that could pull of saying something like that. Either way, I'll think about it (and question it). I might just give Lucas some a-hole thing to say that isn't too complicated.
Obligatory mention of the composition in the first scene -- the general introspection hardening into very distinct self-judgment. In retrospect, do you think the three paras outside her stream of consciousness (right at the end) might need some designation in the formatting? The change in person and tense and situation and all may or may not be jarring without some sign to set the passage off from the rest of the scene. I think it could go either way.
I'm glad you mentioned this because it read relatively smooth in my mind -- and maybe in a way I wanted it to somewhat jarring. Personally, I did it as one of those quick "snaps" back to reality with the sudden transition in first-to-third-person-narrative then back to self reflection.
If you want to look even deeper into my formatting choice here, you might want to look back on Alyson's thoughts and how everything, from her pokemon running away, to her pregnancy, to her role as a mother, come back to her somehow. Even as her son is stricken by an unknown illness, her thought process trails back to whether or not she failed as a mother.
*nods* I swear I didn't make that up on the spot. =P Most, if not all the time, weird bits of narrative/formatting does have some sort of symbolic point the relates to the topic. I will think about reformatting it, though.
You know, Alyson is probably the most complex character in the bunch. Or secretively complex (Lucas's shortcomings are more obvious, and Dawn's to a fault). You'll eventually see once I dive back into the Eldritch-Alyson plot line whenever that is.
Planning is overrated.
Furthermore, where do you get the associations for the dream sequences? Some of them are pure genius.
Feel free to do so if you want to later. =P I think one of the more obvious themes of this story (at least by now, I hope) is the miscommunication between the sexes. Or at least how each side is entirely complex to the other side when it seems simple to their side.
Let me just say that the first chapter was a turn-off for me though. I don't really know how, I think I read a paragraph a two of the first chapter and then I dropped it. It seemed far off, complicated and not really my style...
But I always kept coming back (how corny is that xD), felt it was a waste that I didn't give it a chance so I read bits here and there and some reviews. Then finally, I read the last part of chapter seven (Dawn's analysis of Lucas' character) and... I fell in love with those two :3 So, I've been going through this fic in one go since this morning and man, it was wacky! I like it though :>
So, because my brain would overload from sheer awesomeness if I reviewed all the chapters (flattery/excuse), I'll give you my thoughts on the last chapter, since it was the one that stimulated me into reading this fic in its entirety. Spoiler from here on since I fear for ridiculous length...
There are two types of people in this world: men and women.
I think I was going somewhere with this. I don't remember what. Something like
I found it funny that this person/narrator/Lucas (probably) sounds like he meant to say, "Something like... CHAPTER SEVEN!!"
*dramatic music in the background*
I think a lot of my problems stem from my desire to control things. I'm not sure if I was always like this. Organizing your dolls by use, then height, then name ... would you consider that neurotic? It made sense to me as a child. But anyway ... It gave me a great sense of comfort knowing what was going to happen every day, every minute, every second. I felt secure that way. I mean, of course I can handle unpredictability – I have a child for arceus' sake. It's just ... Well, those little unpredictabilities become big ones, and everything starts to spiral into something that I can't get a handhold on. It's nice when you have a say in what happens to you.
I feel silly for quoting this entire paragraph, but whatever. I think this gives us more insight in Alyson's position and character, she became much more likeable to me than when she was introduced (though I suppose I liked her a bit more already when she discovered Lane, asleep)
I've yet to mention that the way narrating is an interesting one, it feels more personal and involves us a bit more. It's as if we're in a room with the character and he/she tells us their entire life story... or something like that ^^; (is trying to sound intelligent)
I was only twenty when I found out. Dan ... That's Eldritch's first name, you know. Daniel Christopher Elijah Eldritch. Elijah is his middle name – his first name isn't that long.
A nice detail, in my opinion, it again alludes to her personality, which is nice... This really did not need an explanation, right?
You know ... the test. It was positive. I took another. It was positive, too. Then another. Negative. Turns out it was a false negative. Have you heard of such a thing? Apparently it happens if you take the test too late in the day, or if you leave it on the counter for too long. Probably other factors that I can't remember.
Kinda funny and interesting too (from a guy's perspective xD) I'm curious, is it the norm to take a pregnancy test thrice?
So I told him, right there, right then. Just straight out with it, Aly. He's a man. He can take it. To this day, I'm not sure if he blacked out from exhaustion or my news.
xD That definitely did not fit the image I had formed of Eldritch. It is possible it was because of exhaustion but I just find it funnier to think it was because of the news.
He offered to marry me. Offer. Not propose. He had obligations now, he knew that. So he offered. And, desperate, I accepted. I knew I loved him, don't get me wrong; there was love. There is love, somewhere.
This paragraph made me feel sad, it feels as if they're together only out of neccesity. There is love somewhere, right?
The expectation is that your mother is perfect. That she can do no wrong. That she holds little to no fault, no negativity running through her body. And I get it. When you shatter that illusion, then who do you turn to for stability? For strength? For a place where you'll feel safe?
Nice way of depicting how we're stuck in that stereotype image of the perfect mother. It again made me feel a little sad though, maybe empathic towards Alyson. It feels as if she tries hard but doesn't really succeed.
Alyson, about to press a slender hand against the glass window, bit her lip. She watched as nurses hurriedly ran to and fro in her son's hospital room. Lane's heart monitor was beeping crazily. She felt his hand tense up on her shoulder. She wanted to cry.
I demand somebody give them a hug! They needs hugs, chocolate and rainbows :3 And Lane awake, of course!
They approached the library and entered. The two sat down at a couple of computers and turned their chairs to face the glass wall. On the other side of the glass were tombstones barely lit by crackling, swinging light bulbs from the ceiling.
“I hope he burns,” she whispered maliciously.
“We must move the crayon boxes first, my lady,” said Darach.
Darach helped Lady Caitlin pick up her box of crayons, and they moved to another set of computers. He placed each set on the top of each monitor.
“Burn the clown!” were the cheers.
“He has done nothing but rob us of our burgers!” yelled another.
Flames. Flames licked the glass panel. The cheers were deafening. The words etched on the clown's tombstone stood out against the fire.
Forgive me, for I am dumb, but what are Caitlin and Darach doing here (wherever here is, might be Canalave but I'm not sure) and what the hell is going on in the last part? It feels decidedly odd, as in "Lane's dream"-odd :/
Of course running to the problem area was indeed moronic, but he couldn't help it. Well, actually, eh. He could. But there was an intrinsic desire to help out the damsel-in-distress. So burst through the glass doors, Lucas. Run into the cold, bitter Sinnoh night like the moron that you are.
Hah, I lol'd at the narration here, you'd almost think Lucas is sarcastically commenting on his life as he's living it. Especially the last sentence cracks me up xD
Also, yay for damsels-in-distress =D
“Mhm” doesn't mean they agree with you. No, it might mean she doesn't agree with you, but she acknowledges what you said. It's an easier way, at least to the woman, to say, “I acknowledge your argument, but I think it's an idiotic argument.”
I just quoted this to say, I love all this freakin' sociological study stuff! It really interests me :> Of course, also because that last part is hilarious xD
“You see, Lucas, when you text a question to a girl who you recently had a fight with, and she texts back 'Okay.', that really means she's not 'okay.' That one word holds all her RAGE. She pounded all her anger into that period ...
Though it is funny, I despise that Piplup. I suppose it's a good source of humor and sometimes I really do find it funny, but most of the time, I want to cut off its head, freeze it and plonk it down in that garden with the Aipom heads. Which, despite the disturbing imagery, is probably the dream scene I liked best (because it wasn't too complicated, I hate it when I don't understand something (happens quite often, actually :/))
The time made no sense either; bibarel are diurnal. But this one stayed, glared at Dawn with its beady, little eyes, and snarled.
Again, I love the analyzing xD I wish I could do that.
She probably stepped on the pile the bibarel had gathered, which probably woke up the sleeping creature who was nestled in ... that crushed bush over there, and he refused to leave until he could have Dawn's thin, knobby, wood-like legs for his pile. At least that's what Lucas thought amusedly.
“I'm fine,” she muttered. A low tone. The “f” sound (labiodental, if he remembered right) was extended longer than usual, her front teeth pressing against her wind-chapped lips.
He didn't believe her, so he released the creature within the ball.
The torterra, a peaceful breed. A stationary creature, one who enjoys sunlight. The starly often make nests within the make-shift shelter on its heavy shell. His, in particular, was lazy. A daydreamer. Liked to stare at things. Questioned it. They held many a philosophical conversation through intense staring and rapid blinking. They made an ... odd duo, given Lucas' down-to-earth persona and his torterra's lofty, dream-like state, though he figured something more eccentric, like Dawn's piplup who currently was trying to paw up his trainer's leg, would have driven him crazy.
The description seems note-like, yet somehow, it doesn't feel wrong (probably because Lucas is the narrator (of some sort) here). I like the 'odd duo'-part as well as the comparison with Dawn's Piplup. Would've been kinda funny if you did it the other way (though the Piplup would have to be female then :/)
A questionable gaze of “What?” A “You woke me up for this?” A “Goddammit so much, Lucas.” A turn of the head. “Who's the chick? Your girlfriend?” Whether or not his torterra actually thought those things, he didn't know. Lucas imagined he was pretty close, though.
“Mind escorting this bibarel out, Torterra?”
The torterra grunted. He could imagine the “Why?” in his eyes.
Favorite Pokémon of the entire fic so far xD If only because of the imagined sentences by Lucas.
It startled the bibarel, but it stood its ground, switching his attention toward Lucas' pokémon much to Dawn's dismay (but secret relief. Women need their secrets in order to meet their daily crazy quota).
The daily crazy quota... your brilliance continues to amaze me xD Wonder why they haven't officially acknowledged this yet :3
(well, not that she's awkward or anything. Lucas is the awkward one. She was the beauty in the beauty-geek dynamic. Had this been one of her fabulous stories she fantasizes about in her head, he would be hiding his deep, eternal love for her, and she, coy and sweet, would pretend not to know that she knew that he liked her (though she did know, but that's besides the point. It's cuter when you pretend you don't know. She figured it was some sort of defensive move – er, pretending you didn't know. Like, just in case the guy actually didn't like her. But that's silly talk; who doesn't like her?)and, at the end of her fabulous story, he would, in his stuttered, muttered tone that he uses, would confess, and she would confess she loves a geek, and they would skip into the sunset. She would also steal his hat and wear it because teasing is cute, too. AND THEN they would have three kids, two boys, one girl, the girl being the youngest – and you've heard this before, right?)
My favourite part of the entire chapter xD You'd wonder if this is still Lucas (being 100% sarcastic, in that case) or Dawn, having briefly stolen the narrating role. I also love how her (I'm assuming it's Dawn for now) gibberish dissolves into clichés, she could write a manga with that mindset xD
He was a curious guy, probably confused about human anatomy. Piplup do not have protruding breast, after all.
“I invented it. It's a mixture between Sweet Scent and Razor Leaf. Think of it as a two-step attack. The pokémon sends out a few leaves that entices the opponent with its sweet-smelling aroma and the alluring way it twirls toward the ground. The pokémon then has the ability to then make the leaves shoot up toward the unsuspecting opponent. Lucky for the bibarel, Torterra didn't have to initiate step two. It probably would have made it more aggressive.”
I don't know why, but it sounds funny, hearing Lucas speak old-fashioned (I'm assuming it's an old-fashioned style of speaking)
“I was going home before I stepped on that ... twig pile there that the bibarel had piled up.” Ah, ha; he was right. “I live in Sandgem.” She looked past Lucas and down the grainy path toward the seaside town. “You came from there. You don't live there. Why?”
“Why I don't live there? I figured my mom was all, 'Well, I hope my future son holds this awkward conversation with Rowan's other, more annoying, apprentice years later'. All purpose, all meaning, revolves around you if you really try.”
Mind reader! Besides his ability to change the alphabet, Lucas could also read minds! If only he would use that power for good! Or had the additional power of things turning to chocolate. She would be all over that.
“Oh, we both know that's not true. You see, because of this conversation, I'm in your head.” She pulled off his hat and twirled a finger around a lock of his hair, making him frown. She tugged on it and pulled him closer, making his breath get caught in his throat. “Not that I wasn't already, I bet. And if you don't come tomorrow, I'm not going to be leaving your head, and I know that's going to drive you crazy. There: your excuse to stay, if it makes you feel better. And besides, I think you secretly like being around me. So I'll see you tomorrow, hmm?” She released his hair from his grip, recapped his sweaty head, and turned on her heels, sand gritting underneath her feet. She headed toward Sandgem, her right hand lazily waving goodbye. “Good night, Lucas,” she said in a dreamy voice.
And the audience went "AWWWWWWWW"... at least, I did xD
In short, this fic has a very amusing narrative style, one I wish I could use myself, but I think it'd differ with each writer. Anyway, I feel it involves us a bit more directly. The characters all have their charm, in my opinion... well most of them (Francis & Piplup = REJECTION), though I'm still reading this mostly for Lucas and Dawn (I do hope to see Lane wake up though, which I guess will happen towards the end, with Lucas having learned a great lesson of some sort xD Right, I'm being dramatic again)
I hope things will go better between Alyson and Eldritch though, they seem such nice, and interesting, characters that I can't help but wish for a bit of happiness. Alyson should relax a bit =)
I hope to see Rowan again as well, though he didn't appear in this chapter, the previous one shed him in a whole new light for me. Lol at his buneary slippers (I think you spelled them wrong though). So, you got yourself another solid supporter I guess. This fic, if my math is correct, should last until Chapter 15-16-17-18 or something like that.
I have you now, my pretty. Go and edit this mistake, immediately, or I shall call the howler monkeys that consume human flesh.
That answers it. She, indeed, was a mad, volcano-like woman.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Use words.”
“Oh, I don't know his name. That blond kid that you hung out with. He ran off after we let him keep that turtwig. You two screamed like sissies when a flock of starly attacked you. Remember?”
“Oh, Barry? And starly can be fierce in flocks, you know.”
“Uh huh. But either way, what happened to him?”
Lucas shrugged. “I don't know. I lost track of him after–” His voice got caught in his throat and his eyes went wide.
I'll take out the ridiculous amount of "then"'s I have here, but I'm not sure what's wrong with "entices". Is it a definition fail on my part or should it just be "entice" instead?
And is it? Given I've never had to create an attack on the top of my head in real life, but the parallel to it (fabricating a complex story on the spot, I figure) seems relatively easy to do, especially if you're feeling super sarcastic, like Lucas here, and in my head, he seems like a person that could pull of saying something like that. Either way, I'll think about it (and question it). I might just give Lucas some a-hole thing to say that isn't too complicated.
In the passage I pointed out, doesn't 'that' refer to the leaves? (And I'm not sure whether 'that' is valid for plurals anyway.) The leaves are in plural, and for the rest of the sentence ("entices", "its", etc) you treat them as singular. Sorry I didn't make it clear.
Hmm. Maybe it is very easy to fabricate on the spot. I've no clue. I was just talking about making complex descriptive sentences on the spot, which in itself might be really easy. Whatever.
Let me just say that the first chapter was a turn-off for me though. I don't really know how, I think I read a paragraph a two of the first chapter and then I dropped it. It seemed far off, complicated and not really my style...
I didn't, but I am pleasantly surprised. =P Thanks for reading!
I do see how the style is a bit ... crazy. It was actually a lot more untamed before I went back and fixed the narrative so it didn't seem so jarring and out of place. The style in the first few chapters was completely against my regular style, but I think I'm finally becoming comfortable/finding it more natural to merge the new style I'm toying with (where thoughts from the characters bleed into the narrative) and my old one, which was a lot more dialect-heavy. I do like how wacky it is. It's always a style I wanted to try when I was younger but never thought I had the proper skills to pull it off successfully.
I found it funny that this person/narrator/Lucas (probably) sounds like he meant to say, "Something like... CHAPTER SEVEN!!"
Ahaha, I didn't realize that 'til now. XD That was a last minute edit made when I was actually posting this.
I've yet to mention that the way narrating is an interesting one, it feels more personal and involves us a bit more. It's as if we're in a room with the character and he/she tells us their entire life story... or something like that ^^; (is trying to sound intelligent)
I get what you mean. =P That's what I have been trying to do with the entire fic in certain segments (ie it feels like the narrator is personally talking to you about what's going on), though it is more obvious with first person.
Kinda funny and interesting too (from a guy's perspective xD) I'm curious, is it the norm to take a pregnancy test thrice?
Maybe if you're in denial. =P Luckily, I haven't had to worry about ... well, that, but given the situation (young, boyfriend is always away, still in school, unplanned pregnancy), I'd probably be panicky and not wanting to believe what was happening either.
Nice way of depicting how we're stuck in that stereotype image of the perfect mother. It again made me feel a little sad though, maybe empathic towards Alyson. It feels as if she tries hard but doesn't really succeed.
I'm glad you liked that part. It makes me sad, too. XP
Forgive me, for I am dumb, but what are Caitlin and Darach doing here (wherever here is, might be Canalave but I'm not sure) and what the hell is going on in the last part? It feels decidedly odd, as in "Lane's dream"-odd :/
You'd be right in thinking it's "Lane's dream"-odd because, well, it is a dream. =P I tried to make it seem normal and then turn up the bizarre in the end in hopes that people catch on to it being a dream. This dream segment was particularly inspired about how sometimes we dream about being other people. Wanted to try tapping into that.
I just quoted this to say, I love all this freakin' sociological study stuff! It really interests me :> Of course, also because that last part is hilarious xD
I haven't planned on Barry physically being there but that small voice in Lucas' head when it comes to certain issues, like chicks, man. Like some sort of comical god.
That and, well, somewhere (I think chapter three) I kind of hinted that Lucas started to lose the connection between what little friends he had. And I'm not sure what role Barry would play in the story, given I imagined him more as a trainer than a researcher like Dawn and Lucas. I might keep him in mind though.
Though it is funny, I despise that Piplup. I suppose it's a good source of humor and sometimes I really do find it funny, but most of the time, I want to cut off its head, freeze it and plonk it down in that garden with the Aipom heads. Which, despite the disturbing imagery, is probably the dream scene I liked best (because it wasn't too complicated, I hate it when I don't understand something (happens quite often, actually :/))
Lulz. I did want to break the mold of "cutesy wutsey" pokemon companions and make this one kind of, well, a perv. I'm not trying to make him likable. =P To an extent, most of the characters have qualities that make them likable/dis-likable, like Alyson's overprotective nature which can read as love for her child or annoyingly neurotic or Lucas' cynical, sarcastic attitude, which is amusing to a fault but can be just mean. Dawn, even, as perky as she is, can be seen as annoying and too "in your face". Whatever that means.
As for the dream segments, don't try reading too much into them for some inner meaning. Read them at face value and see if that helps a bit. Stylistically, my real challenge to myself was to create a story that can be read on multiple levels, from a whimsical tale, to a story with a complex set of characters, and so on. Something that can be easily enjoyed without having to think too much if you just read it straight through but at the same time, if you do want to analyze segments, there's some substance and deeper meaning.
The description seems note-like, yet somehow, it doesn't feel wrong (probably because Lucas is the narrator (of some sort) here). I like the 'odd duo'-part as well as the comparison with Dawn's Piplup. Would've been kinda funny if you did it the other way (though the Piplup would have to be female then :/)
I'm wondering now. I figured the piplup would have evolved if it were under Lucas' care since it wouldn't be attracted to him. Maybe he'd chase after other girls as an empoleon.
Like a pokemon version of Brock.
That'd actually be kind of neat. Haha.
My favourite part of the entire chapter xD You'd wonder if this is still Lucas (being 100% sarcastic, in that case) or Dawn, having briefly stolen the narrating role. I also love how her (I'm assuming it's Dawn for now) gibberish dissolves into clichés, she could write a manga with that mindset xD
“I was going home before I stepped on that ... twig pile there that the bibarel had piled up.” Ah, ha; he was right. “I live in Sandgem.” She looked past Lucas and down the grainy path toward the seaside town. “You came from there. You don't live there. Why?”
“Why I don't live there? I figured my mom was all, 'Well, I hope my future son holds this awkward conversation with Rowan's other, more annoying, apprentice years later'. All purpose, all meaning, revolves around you if you really try.”
I don't get this part :/ Could you explain, I'm feeling a little confused and a little dumb.[/quote]Nah, don't feel dumb; the narrative thought bleeding kind of failed on my part and I also failed to exchange a pronoun ("there") with the proper noun ("Sandgem") in the second sentence. I'll fix it.
On a surface level, Dawn was telling Lucas why she was still out (the "Ah, ha; he was right" was Lucas overtaking the narrative while in the midst of Dawn dialogue). She then asked Lucas why he came running down from Sandgem since Lucas lives in Twinleaf Town, which is in the opposite direction.
Lucas, being bitter and tired and sarcastic par usual, literally answered Dawn's question ("Why don't you live there?" where "there" = Sandgem) and concocted another lie/story (think when he created that fake attack just to be sarcastic). The lie states that his mom chose not to live in Sandgem just to set a plan in motion where her future son (Lucas) would one day meet Dawn and hold that exact conversation at that exact moment at that exact location.
If you want to dive into the deeper meaning of the statement, the "all purpose, all meaning, can revolve around you if you try" is just commentary on fate/destiny, where a certain action or event may trigger something bigger in your life. Ex) If you didn't take that walk in the park today and sat at that exact bench at 5:30 P.M., you may not have met your future love-of-your-life.
tl;dr version:
Surface level: Lucas just being a jerk.
Deeper level: Lucas commenting on destiny.
I srs. =P
Dawn as narrator again? Actually, I wouldn't mind that at all. While Lucas is sarcastic as hell, she'd be so random there wouldn't even be a story xD
Yeah, she pipes in a few times with this being one of them. Kind of an attempt on my part to see if I could mix up two distinctly different narratives into one scene.
I lurrrved writing this part. Mostly because she does seem evil and Lucas has no snappy comeback for once and is extremely bewildered.
I hope to see Rowan again as well, though he didn't appear in this chapter, the previous one shed him in a whole new light for me. Lol at his buneary slippers (I think you spelled them wrong though). So, you got yourself another solid supporter I guess. This fic, if my math is correct, should last until Chapter 15-16-17-18 or something like that.
I wasn't planning on having Rowan in the story at all, or even having that one scene. Kinda just came to me. But we'll see. I may need him again.
... Actually I do have an idea for him now. >)
And knowing me, I wouldn't be surprised if it hit around eighteen chapters. This story was suppose to end at seven. o.- But I tl;dr with character development. But it's just so much ... fun that way, isn't it?
I'm gonna say ten-twelve chapters. Any other bets?
*reads through all the chapters and applauds*
Wow, this is a really neat story. Took me this long to finally say something. I especially like the dream sequences, since they actually seem like what you'd find in a real dream, a nonsensical confused version of the waking world of sense. It's believable. Poor Lane. It was just for that glossy Dragonite card, huh?
Dawn is an annoying, loathsome kind of girl. I can see why Lucas doesn't like her, even everyone else is smitten with the bubbly, chocoholic, oblivious-to-the-fact-that-her-penguin-is-perverted girl. And dang, Lucas! I've never pictured the beret-sporting boy as quiet, sarcastic, even slightly cynical before this. You couldn't have two less different people.
You have a very whimsical writing style, which makes Lull wonderful to read. I'm sick of all the supposed "darkfics" that constantly pop up. But bleah, like you said, late review is late.
P.S. How do you insert in words with a font different than the ones provided in a post?
I didn't sleep well last night. You think I would have crashed since I got home around one in the morning, but I spent most of the night trying to get comfortable. First it got too hot, then too cold, then too hot again. It was a series of drifting in and out, like the tide. Soothing relief followed by the sharp, awakening chill of its disappearance.
Yesterday was stressful, unnecessarily so. Today might be better.
You have to roll with the punches sometimes. It sounds like you're giving up, but sometimes the best defense is to make your enemies your close friends. I'm positive Barry would comment about my situation. To channel my inner Barry: “Bring that girl down.” And maybe something about fining. I miss him. I wish we didn't drift apart.
I forgot to buy milk. I blame the girl.
…
Possible ability: Arena Trap – this prevents the foe from leaving. Further research required
~ ~ ~
Chapter Eight ~ ~ ~
Hospitals reek of disinfectant.
If you need more description, they're also very … boring. The flooring was carpet, trekked over and flattened into the ground, the synthetic fibers a hardened mesh of blue and purple. There was a brown streak on the wall to the left of Lucas' head. He didn't question what it was. It's better not to question streaks on walls, especially brown ones, when you're in a hospital. Streaks, like rope, are things that should be fought against. An undeniable truth.
What else is there? The lights are fluorescent. If you look down the hall, the entrance's sliding doors have fingerprints of all shapes and sizes smudged on them. That made no sense considering you didn't need to touch the door to exit. Whatever. Sunlight streamed through the door, a translucent liquid gold. The benches were made out of some weird vinyl material.
There was a half-circle counter stacked with paper and clipboards and charts. It was white, the counter. T'was the nurse's station or something like that. There were nurses there. That's stupid. A mass collection of persons of the same occupation in one general location doesn't make that area that group's area. You can't just claim property like that. Chaos would ensue if that was true! Oh, god he was tired. Did that even make sense?
Oh, that girl was here, too. She was reading that myths book. Stupid myths. Lucas turned his head toward her, and he caught a disorientated version of his reflection in her barrettes. He looked funny, his nose too big, his eyes too small, and his hair pointing out in different directions (well, that was probably the only truth in the reflection). She turned her head slightly, noticed him looking at her, and she smiled. He smiled back. What the heck?
Dawn looked back down toward the text she placed so snuggly on top of her thighs. “'There once were pokémon that became very close to humans,'” she read out loud after seeing how bored the poor boy looked, her index finger following the words. “'There once were humans and pokémon that ate together at the same table. It was a time when there existed no differences to distinguish the two.' Know what that means?”
“Hmm,” he pondered. An interesting conundrum. How to go about answering it? He snapped his fingers. “There once were pokémon that became very close to humans. There once were humans and pokémon that ate together.”
“That's exactly what I said.”
“Fantastic.”
She rolled her eyes. “Still bitter from last night, hmm?” She affectionately rubbed her palm against Lucas's hair and ruffled it.
Bitter? Please! He scooted over, quickly throwing on his cap over his unruly strands. Ha! Take that! You can't rub hair with a hat on! Who's not bitter now? Wait, what?
“Whatever,” he murmured. “Your little myth here could mean a variety of things. It can be about the evolution of pokémon, specifically those who are considered 'humanoid.' Pokémon, according to history, were more ally than beast. Much more than your 'household pet,' your partner-in-training. Relationships between human and pokémon were formed that would be frowned upon today. This myth implies that these relationships formed the humanoid pokémon.”
“So you can read past the literal. Good to know.”
“You should have known that.”
“Probably.” She grinned. She flipped back and forth between the thin pages, a loose strand of hair brushing past her face. “This myth stood out to me. Humanoid pokémon and their origins have always been a mystery. I know it isn't your specialty, but I'm sure you have an opinion on it. What do you think?”
He considered the question thoughtfully, scuffing a foot across the carpet. “From a very basic viewpoint, I would consider adaptation. Those who are humanoid–machoke, kadabra, lucario, and so on–live in rocky terrain, and having the ability to walk on two legs while using your forearms to pull you up is much more useful. You'll be able to trek further in such areas.”
She nodded, so he continued. “Likewise, the quadruped is more common in forest areas since it is relatively flat terrain. It makes them more agile to avoid predators – or catch prey.”
“So ... You think pokémon that lived in rocky terrain were once quadruped but evolved into bipeds out of necessity?” Dawn closed the book lightly and ran a finger down the well-worn spine. She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
He glanced down the hallway where a couple of nurses were speed walking from room to room. “I think they evolved, sure, but from what I don't know.”
“But consider other bipeds in the pokémon world. Chansey, for example, do not live in rocky terrain but in the meadows.”
“I wouldn't consider chansey humanoid.”
“Still.” She turned her head and opened her eyes, the pale white light of the hospital reflecting in her eyes. She stared at the side of Lucas's head, watching him fidget with the pokéballs clipped to the side of his belt. “I'd like your input.”
There was a pause. Move your head slow. Look slow. Look slow so you don't seem alarmed by the request because you're not. Eyes to the side. Eyes on the peripherals – wait, would that look shifty? Like you're annoyed? Like you thought the request was stupid? Because you don't think it is. Shift your body instead. Why must vinyl be so loud when you move against it? Position your feet to the left. Grip your pokéballs tighter if you're nervous. You're nervous; your nails are digging into your palm. Why are you so nervous? Stop being so nervous. Now move the rest of your body. Your torso needs to move slightly to the left too, you awkward robot. There. Now look at her. Look. Really look. Take her in and look.
Light acne covered in makeup; he could see the few bumps on her forehead. Her eyeliner–or mascara, or eye shadow, or whatever it's called–was smudged at the corners of her eyelids. Was that on purpose? Cheeks were rosy. Was that natural? What do they call it? Blush? The term used for both the makeup and natural glow? How neat. Her lips were shiny, almost sticky looking. Fancy, fancy, sparkly chap stick. Or lip gloss. Something. A few thin strands of dark hair escaped her barrettes and brushed against her cheek, bouncing up and down with every move she made.
And her smile–white teeth visible between slightly parted and sticky lips–was lovely. Ugh, what the heck again?
“Chansey,” he murmured a few seconds after she asked. “Well, they are rare to begin with, or they are well at hiding. I'm not sure if they are hunted down – I would think so because of how nutritious and beneficial the egg it carries is. That's besides the point, though.”
“I guess,” she said, nodding her head. “Go on.”
He racked his brain. It amused him to think of his brain like a filing cabinet sometimes, the file drawers opening and an invisible hand flicking through manila folders until it stopped at the right one. He pulled it out and details on chansey filled his mind. “Let's see ... Despite their odd shape, chansey are actually quite good at escaping foes. Their shape, I believe, has more to do with the ... what is it called? The maternal, nurturing state of the chansey. Given the position, I suppose being biped makes travel easier while keeping their upper arms free in case of threat. They're able to hunch over, protect their egg, if under attack.”
“Makes sense,” she replied, gripping the book between her hands. “But back to humanoid pokémon. I understand the adaptation aspect of it, but I'm stuck on the origins. Data only goes back so far. Do you think pokémon were once humans? No, that isn't what I meant to say. Did … interbreeding–” Dawn’s face scrunched up in confusion when she said the word. This made Lucas raise his eyebrows, amused. “–between pokémon and human create the humanoid type? Fighting types are extremely humanoid. Are they just super-powered humans? Psychic pokémon also have human-like qualities and seem to have better cognitive processes. Are they an expansion of the human mind?”
He noticed her nose crinkle at the thought. “An interesting question,” he replied.
“I was going to specialize in it but ... I don't know. Is it even possible for human and pokémon to breed? Different sets of genes and all that stuff.”
Lucas looked at the clock mounted on the wall above the automated doors. Six minutes past eleven. He had called Eldritch and Alyson earlier–around seven or so–and, from what he could piece together from Eldritch's incoherent statement, they were told to meet at eleven o'clock in front of the nurse's station–or doctor's station, or juggler's station, or whatever mass collection of persons of a certain occupation were gathered there at that very moment. At least that's what he thought he heard. “Meet us at that one ... that one counter thing. You know, that big counter thing. You remember right? It was that big counter thing in that big thing in front of that thing. You know now? And bring Sunny or Dawn or Sparky or whatever her name was if you're not mad at her anymore. Okay, Lukey Lu?” can only get you so far.
“I know it sounds fishy,” she said as Lucas stared at the clock, unaware that he had dazed out, “but I do think that the essence of that myth is, to an extent, true.”
He blinked rapidly a few times. “Well …” he let the word drag on. “Let’s throw you a hypothetical. If pokémon truly are descendants of humans, why did they lose their ability to communicate in human language?”
“The stronger psychic types are able to communicate in any human language telepathically,” she said. “Slowking and lugia are a couple of examples.”
“Vocally, I meant.”
“What if they lost that ability because it was unnecessary to learn the complexities of speaking human language? Pokémon have larynges, tongues, teeth, lips. Consider the wailord. Its skeleton reveals that it has a pair of pelvic bones buried underneath the skin. It has the bones that have helped it walk, even if it doesn't need to now. What makes this any different from the pokémon's inability to combine its vocal muscles to create human syllables?”
“You can't really compare the wailord's pelvic bones to all of pokémon's vocal organs. The former is not used at all and the latter is used in a distinctly different way from how we use them. Pokémon in no way have lost their ability to speak – their trainers just don't specifically understand the combination of syllables they use.”
She didn't say anything, but he felt like he should pause. “As far as we know,” he continued, “pokémon language could be more complex than human speech given they're able to communicate across various species. I don't think human speech is an indication that a pokémon evolved from a human – I guess that's my own fault for bringing it up. What makes a human a human anyway?”
“Wit? Ability to create something grander through simple means? Technology? Fear of death? Our love-hate relationship for crappy reality T.V.? Morality?”
“Maybe.”
“I think morality.” She leaned her head against the wall again, facing Lucas this time. A finger wrapped itself around the loose ends of her scarf. There was the brown streak in between them, the referee. “Perhaps the manipulation of thought. Humans are able to manipulate their thoughts so what is deemed 'bad' is seen as 'good' in their eyes.”
“I don't know about that. I don't think anyone is really trying to be 'the bad guy'. Some people, despite how evil others see them, believe they're doing good for the world because that is truly what they believe. I think the complexities and various definitions of ‘bad’ and ‘good’ are a human quality in itself.”
“I guess.” She shrugged. “How do you think humanoid pokémon came to be then?” Dawn asked, crossing her legs. “Did they evolve from something simpler even if it wasn't a human? Or have they always just been like that?”
“It's a little too early to get into a philosophical debate.”
“I know. I'd just like to know your opinion. I'll drop it after that.”
Lucas noticed the hospital door open, and the stocky figure of Eldritch and the petite form of his wife entered. The young sailor had a slight ... swerve in his step as if tipsy on one or two or ten bottles of beer, while his wife gracefully stepped forward with her strapped sandals, swinging her hips back and forth gently. “I think,” he said, “that you need to be in order to be. But some things just are.”
“Are you still talking about pokémon?”
“I'm talking about anything.” He grabbed hold of the brim of his hat and pulled it down. He stood up, greeting the couple walking toward them. “Good morning, Mr. Eldritch.” He nodded at him. “Mrs. Eldritch.”
“Aly,” Alyson replied with a warm smile, brushing locks of wavy brown hair behind her shoulder. She nudged her husband with elbow after a few seconds of silence. “Danny–”
“Eldritch,” he grumbled, wiping at his bloodshot eyes. “My name is Eldritch.” He scratched the top of his head, fingers running through his greasy, black hair.
“It's um–” Dawn quickly stood up and placed the myths book on the bench. She wiped her hands on her skirt. “It's nice to see you again. How are you both doing?”
“We're well considering the situation,” Alyson answered. She sidestepped and nudged Eldritch again so a nurse wheeling a patient out could pass by. “It's reassuring to know that Lane is stable and healthy at least.”
“It's the 'why' and 'how' really.” Eldritch stifled a yawn. “Sorry. I managed to catch a couple more hours before you called, but I'm still pretty worn out.” He turned his head toward the boy in front of him and grinned, rubbing his chiseled, but stubble-adorned, jaw. “I'm glad you called, Lucas.”
“I'm glad, too,” remarked Dawn.
Lucas shifted his nerves into his fists, shoving them into the pockets of his jeans. He balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. “I'm ... Um, anyway, you told me there was some new revelation? At least that's what I think I heard.”
“Come.” Aly took a step forward and motion the rest of the group to follow. “Let's visit Lane first.”
~ ~ ~
Lance, being the ever popular figure, had a cartoon show based on him.
“Based” is such a loose term. “Inspired” would be the proper word had the cartoon been about Lance's triumphs and hardships. Add some romance, a little drama, someone pushing someone else into a pool ... series gold. But the cartoon was about Lance and a bunch of talking pokémon living in Goldenrod City. Crazy situations occur. Crazy solutions are the answer. Then you wrap it up with a moral, like bacon around a hot dog. It's kind of unnecessary, sure, but everyone loves bacon. Lane lapped it up like a hungry kitten after a bowl of milk. It was the reason why he got up at six-thirty in the morning on a Saturday.
But you knew all this already, didn't you?
Anyway …
Was he a girl for a minute?
Everything was cartoon. Lane wasn't sure if he was watching the cartoon, or if he was in it. He couldn't see himself. Maybe he was a ghost. OoOooOooh! Is that the noise ghosts make?
He was standing on the street corner of a bustling city. It was animated, too. Everything was bright but at the same time mundane. The buildings were kind of blurry and colored the same golden brown. The glass windows had the same glint in them despite being drawn at different angles. The sun gave light to everything; the only shadows, in the shape of dark gray blobs, were beneath the pokémon's feet,
There were other cartoon beings. Most of them were pokémon standing on their hind legs. They were looking up toward the two-toned sky – no, the top of a building. “The Goldenrod Department Store” Lane read on the sign. He was standing near a quacking psyduck.
“What's going on?” he asked. Maybe the psyduck could see him.
“Look!” it quacked, flapping its wings. He wasn't sure if it was talking directly to him or just stating the obvious.
He looked. His vision panned forward somehow. Closer and closer and closer. It was the elusive gabite Lance was seeking and was secretly rivals with. Its blue and red scales were shiny in the cartoon sun. Beady, yellow eyes were narrowed. In his hands was a shotgun, cocked and pointed toward the wide-eyed civilians on the ground.
“Get out!” it snarled. “You shouldn't be here! Any of you! Go home!”
Where was home? He felt sadness overwhelm him as he stared at the gabite, staring at the sharp points on its back that stood out so threateningly against the calm, two-toned blue of the sky.
There was a loud CRACK! The pokémon began to scream and run around as more wild shots were fired. Lane couldn't see any of the shots being fired, or smoke, or anything, and he didn't join in the panic. As soon as he turned his head to the right, there was the psyduck. It was dead. No blood, though. He couldn't imagine a pool of blood. That's too much. Lane knew he was dead though, the way it looked so endlessly into the sky filled with fluffy clouds. The characteristic “tongue-out-of-mouth” was in place, a sure cartoon sign that the psyduck was gone.
More bodies hit the floor. Still no blood. Too much to imagine.
“Get out of here!” was the most predominant scream. “Anywhere but here!”
Lane looked around again. Near and far were bodies. Where could you run? Nowhere. He could find you anywhere, that deranged gabite. Bodies lined the exit. Bodies decorated the plaza, the entrance of the department store, in alleys, in open daylight. But he couldn't find him, Lane. He wasn't being shot at. But as a flaffy fell in front of him after being shot in the back, baaing and gasping at his shoes before it died, he couldn't figure out why he didn't run just to avoid the horrific scene. He guessed he didn't know the way out. He wasn't from Goldenrod. Maybe he couldn't run. Ghosts don't have feet.
Then how did he have shoes ...?
He missed something because everyone was cheering, and the gabite was gone. All the bodies that littered the ground disappeared, and death was replaced with dancing. Lane turned his attention toward across the street. Lance! There was Lance, the greatest dragon tamer in Kanto–no, the entire world! He was standing across the street, gripping his arm. Lane didn't move, just watched, as his hero slowly lifted his hand. Drops of blood rained toward the concrete. His hero's hand was soaked in it. Lance cringed and tightened his grip on his wound, slowly sliding toward the floor until his knees were curled up to his chest. He was hurt, obviously, but still alive. Something was just wrong with his arm. Maybe he got shot.
And then came Lina, that silly, bumbling pichu that ruined all of Lance's plans (though meaning well, of course). She noticed, with her head cocked to the side, the hero in pain, particularly in the arm region.
“I'll help!” Lane heard her cry, and she hopped on top of Lance's knees, pulled at his arm that maybe got shot at, and twisted and pulled at it. Something cracked, sickeningly so. She brushed her hands before wiping them on her tiny frame; a job well done. Lane noticed the streaks of red on top of her once shiny yellow coat, but she didn't seem to notice – or care. Then she left.
There was a loud yell from Lance before he slumped to the ground onto his back, comical X's in his eyes. Like he died. His dragonair flew by and rested her long body against Lance's, nudging his face with hers. Shift to nightfall. Everything fast forwarded to night, like all cartoons have the ability to do. Crickets chirping. Dancing long gone – creatures gone, too. There was the silver, pale moon above along with a vast arrangement of stars. An airplane buzzed by. Lance was unmoving, and so was his dragonair, patiently waiting.
~ ~ ~
Dawn couldn't help but jump back as Lane's body twitched, followed by a sharp exhale, like a gasp. He squirmed a little, disturbing the sheets on his bed. His face scrunched up, his small lips in a frown. But then he relaxed. It was odd, like sleep constipation.
She swore he heard him talk, sweet Lane, but no one else seemed to notice. It was a whisper, floating in the airspace above before being swept away like dust. She stared into his face, drinking it in.
Dawn wanted to be a teacher once. In the end she realized that it was more about the human connection that interested her, so she quickly ditched those plans. But teachers, especially those who are called to that field by destiny or God or whatever, create bonds with their pupils. They get to know a little about their students – their life, their history. She liked stories. Teaching seemed like a good way to know other people's stories. Basic questions and answers weave stories.
What is Lane's story, Dawn?
An eight year old, she answered. An eight year old living in Canalave. He has a mother, a housewife, and a father, a sailor, and they live in a quaint one-story house in the suburbs. Blue eyes. Black hair. Big ears that stuck out. A younger, skinnier image of his dad but with the cool blue eyes of his mama. According to his dad, he has a fascination with Lance. Somewhere along the lines he fell into some ... “sleeping spell” to use simple terminology.
Meaning?
Think about it. If he's eight and into Lance, it must mean he has some sort of interest in pokémon. In two years, he'll be able to register as a trainer. He must be excited about that.
A solid household in the suburbs ... that probably means a stable childhood. A mom that's a housewife indicates that she is quite invested in her child, which could translate into the mother being overprotective. His father would be seen as the less disciplinary one, seeing as the father is often out at sea. So there might be a more ... stricter element when it comes to Lane's and his mother's relationship while his relationship with his father is looser. A relationship you feel at ease with is the relationship you're more often to tell your secrets and truths to.
Life is kind of funny like that.
So a mother who may be overprotective, and an eight year old child who may be excited about becoming a trainer in two years, plus factor in the adventure-loving father, proven by the mere fact that the father is a sailor ...
That can't be good. Conflict. By no means disruptive, but she could see how it could make the household stiff.
“I know I already asked before, but do you mind telling us what Lane was doing the day before he fell into his slumber?” she heard Lucas ask.
A good question. Dawn found herself taking a step closer to peer into the sleeping Lane's face. She saw his nose twitch which made a small smile tug at her lips.
“He was playing at that old Harbor Inn with a couple of his friends,” answered Alyson from the opposite side of the bed. One hand was holding onto Lane's hand, her thumb stroking the back of it. Her body position was slightly slumped.
Their shape, I believe, has more to do with the ... what is it called? The maternal, nurturing state of the chansey. They're able to hunch over, protect their egg, if under attack.
Definitely protective, she read through the simple body positions. But the loving stroke of her thumb was tender. Delicate. Sweet.
“I was walking home from the grocery store when I saw Lane try to climb through the window. Luckily, I managed to stop him.”
“And later that night?” asked Lucas. She felt him brush up against her bare forearm accidentally, making the hairs on her arm stand on edge.
“He was playing in his room, pretending to be like Lance as he often does. I had Eldritch talk to him about what happened earlier,” said Alyson. “He's more open with him than with me.”
Knew it. Dawn held back a grin.
“We had a little talk, Lane and I. He told me something strange. I told you about it earlier,” piped in Eldritch.
Lucas nodded. “Something in the Inn, right?”
Dawn thought about Lance. What a handsome man that Lance. But why would Lane like Lance? He had dragons and he was a heroic figure. Definitely something a little boy would look up to. Was she reading too much into it? Was the fantastic life of Lance was an escape from the drama of home?
She looked toward Eldritch and Aly. The two seemed comfortable with each other. Aly's other hand was wrapped around Eldritch's muscular arm. Maybe she was wrong. All pairings have disagreements but that doesn't mean a household in the midst of a breakdown. Besides, all little kids like to imagine regardless of the situation at home.
But why enter try to enter the Inn, Dawn?
To impress his friends of course. You could tie in the overprotective mother again, and most kids do the complete opposite of what their parents say in order to rebel but all kids do stupid things for their friends.
“Did he tell you about anything he saw? Any noises, smells?”
“Eyes,” was Eldritch's answer.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Can you be more specific?”
“He just said he saw eyes.”
Lucas turned toward Dawn. “Hypnosis?” he asked.
It flattered her that he was asking her opinion for once. “You told me that those who fall under a hypnotic sleeping state awaken in a few hours naturally,” she replied, feeling ever-so-smart even if she was repeating what he said before. “You also said that it was highly inaccurate, especially if you factor in distance, the length of how long the spell was cast, and how long the prey was looking.” She saw Alyson flinch near the end of her statement. Prey was for animals, for pokémon, and Lane was no pokémon. She bit her lip at her insensitivity. That wasn't like her. Too much analysis. Too much indirectness. Too much Lucas.
Lucas turned his head back toward the Eldritchs. “Do you know if Lane looked long?”
Alyson shook her head. “I saw him just when he was about to climb in. He couldn't have looked in for more than five seconds.”
And there it was. She was sure of this time. “Watching ...” passed the little boy's lips. She was sure because everyone else looked toward Lane at the same time.
“That's the new 'revelation,'” Aly murmured, gripping her son's hand tighter. “He's been repeating something along the lines of 'Dar is watching me.' Maybe it was 'dark'? I was here the first time he said it – Eldritch was getting food–”
“That's when I ran into you, Lucas,” remarked Eldritch.
“–And after he said it, his heart monitored started to beep like crazy. He calmed down after a while but it was still bizarre. And scary.”
Dar (or Dark) is watching me. What did that mean? Dawn gripped her myths book tighter in her left hand. A dark type? A spirit? Maybe “dar” was someone. Dad, maybe? It sounded ominous. A warning of sorts. Maybe it was part of a dream. If you're sleeping, you're dreaming, right?
“Then I suppose our next step is to check out Harbor Inn.” Lucas laced his hands behind his head. Dawn noted his body language. His right knee was popped out as he placed all his weight on his left and his elbows were pointed forward instead of toward the sides. It was a relaxed position, a contemplative position. Hands laced behind your neck could range from anything, though, from complete ease to high stress and frustration. She liked to think the former. Maybe he was finally comfortable with her. Maybe there was hope for this relationship after all.
“Maybe there's a pokémon lurking inside that is capable of using powerful sleep-inducing spells,” Lucas explained to the parents. “Or maybe there's proof that Lane hurt himself on accident.” It was a series of rapid-fire maybes, one after the other. You're not exactly sure if they're hitting or missing but all that matters is that they're being shot. Points are still addressed, even if they're wrong.
“He was hanging out with his friends the day before?” asked Lucas.
“Yes. Their names are Julie Edmund and Francis Miller. They go to the same school. Their homes aren't far from here.”
“Maybe we should talk to them, too,” he suggested.
“Maybe,” she added. She felt like she added nothing in contribution. Her “maybe” was just to talk, really.
Dawn's eyes cast toward the window. Sunlight poured through the blinds, leaving horizontal streaks of light and shadow. She followed the path toward the adjacent wall where the light angled. The walls were painted blue, but there were drawings on the wall. Cute drawings of pokémon: dragonite, gyrados, wingull, pikachu. On the table next to Lane's hospital bed was a vase of flowers with petals that were starting to droop. The table was littered with trinkets. Toy cars. A bag of marbles. Pokémon cards. Empty pokéballs. They were lined up so neatly. The pictures on the wall were taped in straight rows of three.
Decorations, she thought as Lucas and the Eldritchs continued their chitchat. An association of the familiar, to make the hospital room more comforting rather than a place of fear. That's the basis of his parents adding Lane's drawings and toys to the room, she figured. But they were tidy. A sense of control. A desire for stability. Taking hold of the situation and having some sort of say in it. You may have put my child in here, but I have the power to make what his room looks like. The flowers? That's because all hospital rooms need flowers.
Someone had pulled the blinds up and opened the window. The cool ocean breeze entered, first in slow, tentative puffs than grander gusts that made the drawings flap. She shivered, strands of loose hair dancing about her shoulders.
“Ready?” Lucas asked, turning toward her.
“Huh?”
“We're leaving?” he answered slowly, followed by an inflection in his voice. “Where are you today?”
She blinked rapidly a few times. “Thinking,” was her simple reply.
“Well, pack it in a to-go box. We have some research to do.”
I will fix that, Wordy. I think I wanted to have Lucas originally have an inferape, but a torterra seemed to fit him better.
Thanks for the review, Little Wishling. I'm glad you're enjoy reading the style this story is written in (and lord knows I love writing in it).
As for inserting words with font different than the ones provided, it's pretty much the same code ([.font=whatever the font is called]words here[./font] without the periods of course). You have to manually type in the font name if it isn't provided. I'm also not sure what fonts are in the BBcode (or whatever it's called) so you might want to toy around and see what fonts show up and what ones don't.
Well, this was a very interesting read. ^^ I just love Dawn's personality. The whole analysis of how humanoid Pokemon came to be is some interesting insight. I like it, the comparison of Chansey to Lane's Mother is pretty cool too.
Very interesting dream sequence, Lance is now "dead" in Lane's eyes? I wonder. Very interesting choice in using a Gabite when you could choose so many other dragons... And I'm pretty sure a shotgun wouldn't be very accurate in killing Pokemon, at least at the height of Goldenrod department store. But it is an interesting weapon choice. But it could also be an important thing to the bigger picture.
Very interesting chap, gives me a lot to think about.
jirachiman out ;385;
