Ok, so I was planning to post this on Christmas and make it some kind of uberish surprise of a reappearance at the forums after like a week or two >.>
But not only did that sound crap, but the fic was too crap to even be worth it so I figured, what the heck, I'll post the thing now!
Really not much to say, I'll have to edit things in as I think of them, because I did have like a whole speech ready when I planned this out >.>;;
I'm not pleased with this chapter, which kind of sucks seeing as its the opening v_v...
But anyways, I'm just gonna post the fic now and shut up.
Chapter One: Rockets Plummet (That's right, no prologue)
Chapter Two: Icy Blue
A recurring wooden tap echoed through countless trees of an autumnal forest, every now and again it occurred, it was accompanied by a strained grunt.
As a single Seedot hung firmly attached the branch of a particularly tall oak tree, swaying a little due to reasons quite unknown to himself, he happily feasted upon the nutrients the plant had to offer and pondered over his current situation. He felt a small pain at his side and again began to sway with a little more momentum.
It was odd; this quite random pain at his side simply kept returning again and again within intervals of silence and absorption and for some similarly bizarre reason, he kept swaying, again and again at a comparable rate.
His eyes, perfectly circular yet half hidden behind his teal-coloured hat, which was akin to that of an acorn’s, were void of emotion and stared blankly ahead of him at the long, rough trunk of a fir tree. Every now and again, the tree before him seemed to move simultaneously with his movement, yet nothing had seemed to cause the movement other than this pain.
Another pain. Another sway. Another moving tree.
It took another stab of pain for the Seedot to connect the two together and see that this pain was the actual cause of his movement, and therefore the cause of the affronted tree’s. Though he was still completely baffled as to what the pain came from.
But as a moment of silence and stillness ensued, the Seedot began to muse – and forgot completely of this pain altogether. The tree he currently hung on certainly was a good source of energy. It was abundant with the nutrients he needed, though he did not know why he needed them, something inside just told him to get them.
He often felt the need to do things, as if forced by some magical power. Such as remaining within the presence of a certain being, that provided for him and was there when he first opened his eyes.
If Seedot’s were blessed with mouths upon their creation, this particular Pokemon would have at that moment smiled.
Another sharp pain at his side caused him to swing with quite a larger force this time – and also for the first time, the long silence that had blessed the tranquil forest was broken; by a familiar sound…
“DAMN IT, SEEDOT! GET THE HELL OUTTA THAT BLESSED TREE!”
Paco Quinn, a boy of recent fifteen years, and owner-slash-parent of a particularly disobedient and deranged Seedot, knelt hopelessly amongst the multicoloured leaves which had long since dropped from the tree before him; his face, clothes and hands all equally haggard and dirty.
His eyes, of the same hue as that of the bark facing him, glared maliciously above at some kind of rounded form that swayed lightly; attached quite firmly to one of the many grand oak’s leafless branches and began to scrutinize its position for any weak spots it may have retained.
With some evident frustration, Paco snatched at a nearby acorn and forcefully got to his feet, despite the protest of his aching limbs. He raised his arm behind his head and squinted a little, obviously aiming for the Seedot that hung and swung quite innocently and obliviously above him.
Then with immense effort, he launched the acorn upon which it successfully managed to hit the Seedot’s side and caused it to sway a small bit, yellowed leaves fluttering to the ground at the slight force. Though the intention of his parting from the tree’s branch was to no avail; for the Seedot continued to hang and sway with similar strength as before. And to make the matter quite worse, the very acorn that he had thrown came plummeting back to the ground and effectively managed to land square in between Paco’s eyes.
He let out a yelp of pain as the acorn bounced off and hit the intended ground with a soft thud, and for the fourth or fifth time, he collapsed on his knees; using a hand for support and a hand to nurse the red lump that was rapidly beginning to rise upon his forehead.
“Damn you, Seedot! Damn you to hell!” He cursed towards the floor, squinting in pain while he rubbed his throbbing head.
If Seedot’s were blessed with mouths, Paco would have been sure that the little demon was sniggering at his discomfort right at that moment.
“PACO QUINN! I might have known!”
Paco gave a lingered groan, as if his life couldn’t worsen to greater extent after the sudden appearance of this particular person.
Close behind him, with a leer that could set the leaves beneath him aflame and smacking her open hand with a large bludgeon, was Paco’s bossy, prying, and downright ugly neighbour, Mrs. Poone.
Paco didn’t even have to turn to know what she wore, most likely a face mask of sorts and a silky pink gown complete with white frills at every possible crevice.
Nor did he have to turn to notice it was her presence, the shrill voice, the over-the-top pronunciation of every word she uttered, the strangled breathing. Yeah, Mrs. Poone alright…
“Harassing defenseless wild Pokemon again are we?”
Before she could continue, Paco leapt up and snapped, pivoting to face the green-faced, bludgeon-wielding Politoed of a woman,
“Quiet, Spoon! I’ve told you to stay out of my business! This Pokemon,” he pointed madly behind him, inaccurately indicating the Seedot that continued to hang firmly upon the branch, “actually belongs to me! Now I’m sick-”
“How dare you!” Spoon interrupted (Paco had gotten quite accustomed to calling Mrs. Poone Spoon, due to the obvious pronunciation of her actual name), her once cucumber-concealed eyes bulging with utmost rage; completely ignoring Paco’s rant like she always did to every bit of speech he spoke, “How dare you!” She repeated, by then her bludgeon tapping coming to a slow halt.
Paco’s expression dropped exhaustedly and he commenced in rubbing the lump on his forehead again, its pain somehow magnified.
“Just you wait Paco Quinn, just you wait! You’re to come with me this instance, from which I will take you back to your own house and inform your mother of your utter insolence!” Her already fit-to-burst stomach protruded a little further and she placed her hands with notable indignation upon her wide hips, her mouth curving with rage, yet the corners giving off signs of her pride at her ‘achievement’.
Instead of taking any heed to her angered words whatsoever, Paco swiveled on the spot and mimicked Spoon’s action of hands-to-hip, observing his Seedot from afar in an attempt to discover a way to allow its release from the branch on which it firmly hung. As he observed and planned, Paco took no notice of the indignant grunt that emitted from behind him.
Again, as he roughly measured the height of the tree then the width of its base, Paco chose not to comprehend the clearing of a throat that made itself quite prominent from behind him.
It wasn’t until five seconds after a third attempt at grabbing his attention that Spoon finally broke.
“That is it! You come with me this instant, Paco, or I will release Bodger!” Her words were pronounced a little more prominently than as usual as she said this, and her anger was clearly audible.
Instead of snapping, Paco came to the conclusion that perhaps a softer approach would have had better effect. With that thought in mind, he slowly turned to face the expected trembling, boulder of a figure of Spoon and spoke in his softest, most matured voice he could,
“Now I can understand your anger, Mrs. Spoon (he couldn’t resist slipping in the hidden utterance), but I must tell you that this Seedot is actually my own, and has been since my fifteenth birthday, which, might I add, was but two days ago-”
“BODGER GO!” There was a small rounded blur of red and white, ensued by a bright flash of white and sparks, before an enormous, humanoid figure had materialized between the two people.
Its hands, retaining but three wide fingers, were larger than Paco’s head alone – perhaps double that, and Paco thought undoubtedly that it would be able to lift his form without any trouble whatsoever, owing to its bulging muscles – of which were most obvious in his legs, which resembled two overgrown pumpkins more than legs themselves. Its head, if one could call it a head, was certainly odd to say the least. It appeared that its mouth was concealed behind a fleshy mask of muscle and bone that formed a downward point to a place on its chest, a triangular area at the tip coloured a brown hue other than the beige of the rest of the skin. Its eyes were not far off slits and were positioned beneath two blue strips of perhaps bone or material that met just before the rest of the face became hidden.
Paco had seen the released Pokemon all too many times before, yet the sheer sight of it never failed to spark the tiniest bit of awe, considering it did belong to Spoon after all. Just its towering size and bulging muscles deemed it to seem unstoppable and unbeatable.
The Hariyama let out a deep rumbling growl upon his appearance, its arms resting lazily on his meter-wide legs, his colossal muscles flexing by his mere act of breathing.
Once getting over his small state of admiration, Paco blinked vigorously and returned to his outraged expression, staring maliciously at Spoon, who stared with a quite similar expression back.
“Bodger, grab this ignorant runt and bring him with me back home. His harassing of wild Pokemon is reason enough for physical contact.” She added with a sneer, brandishing her bludgeon towards Paco. Before any protest could even be uttered, Paco felt what felt like three tree trunks encase and compress his whole body before he was lifted from the leaf-strewn ground with such ease it was as if he were a leaf himself. It wasn’t until he comprehended his situation that Paco began his screams of protest, trying his damnedest to struggle yet firmly prevented from doing so by the sheer strength of Bodger’s hand.
“Spoon you witch! You’re not a policewoman anymore; get the hell off of me!” He yelled malignantly, his words falling upon deaf ears as it echoed through the trees.
“Hear me, Spoon! I’ll kick your *** one day! Let’s see you ridicule and pester me then!” Still, the purely smug Spoon waddled onwards without a second thought upon Paco’s threatening words, perhaps, Paco thought, dreaming of what she’d cook for third breakfast that morning.
Finally comprehending that his cries were to little avail, Paco strained to turn his head behind him to try and catch a glimpse of Seedot. Sure enough, he was still in the exact same spot, staring blankly at the exact same tree as if his trainer did not and never had existed and as if the singular most important thing in the whole world was to rile him senseless while hanging off a tree branch that was inches too high.
Sighing with great annoyance, Paco finally relaxed his body and stared a fiery stare at Spoon who plodded on ahead of Bodger’s heavy footsteps and Paco’s helpless form.
“Here George, take a whiff of this stuff!” A young boy of nine years knelt before a rounded wooden table, scrutinizing a thick orange substance that almost seemed to bubble within its transparent, five by five centimeter container, disgust obvious within his piercing blue eyes.
With thick brown hair messier than a wild Poochyena’s and a cockney accent that could easily confuse him with a London ragamuffin; you’d never believe that Jamie Quinn was in fact a very lucky child, living in a well-spoken, prideful family of five – brought up a well mannered and well educated young man.
Standing close by, with much neater, longer and straighter brown hair, and retaining an expression similar to Jamie’s, was George Quinn.
Lowering himself to the level of Jamie, George’s head hovered above the goopy liquid and with a small scrunch of the side of his nose; he took a small ‘whiff’ of the substance. He took a long while to actually react, before he pulled a face of utmost displeasure and began to make peculiar choking sounds with his tongue protruding, which seemed to entertain Jamie to a high extent as he giggled boyishly by his side.
“Oh stop it you two! Go out and play or something and stop hanging around beneath my feet!” The pestered voice above the two belonged to a man in his late thirties, his once lengthy brown hair slightly receding around his forehead and graying around the ponytail that hung short, barely reaching the back of his head. He bore quite unusual clothing for a man, the frilly pink apron standing out quite a bit from the rest of his appearance, especially seeing as it contrasted greatly with his orange shirt and green cargo trousers.
“Aw, come on, dad, its not like we can do anythin’. Believe it or not, only one person owns somethin’ remotely entertaining in this house…” Jamie stated - his later statement spoke as more of a mumble. The two boys rose from the chessboard-akin tiled floor and went to leave the room, only to become blocked by their tall-standing father, who held the feather duster in his hand so it pointed to the ceiling and placing his free hand upon his hip.
Jamie glanced up at him, his attempt at ridding the mischievous guilt from his face failing dismally. Instead of speaking, his father merely cocked an eyebrow expectantly, to which Jamie droned, “Okay, okay, we’re too young for Pokemon.” He sighed and made a movement to pass the blockade, but a twitch in his father’s stance brought him and George to an abrupt halt,
“And?” He probed, stooping a little,
“And Paco got the Pokemon for his birthday, not as a gift but as a reward.” George finished indignantly, obviously as annoyed at the matter as Jamie,
“Thank you kindly,” their father replied, turning a full ninety degrees to allow their passing.
As the two made for the stairs, all actions became frozen at the strong wooden rapping that resounded through the house.
“Door!” The boys yelled in excited unison and they both commenced in a series of stumbles and tumbles, much like a dance, as they fought towards the front door, which was painted a pretty sky blue colour, and matched well with the blue-tainted white of the kitchen walls.
While they struggled to the door, their father sighed and placed the duster upon the kitchen table, beside the orange substance that had previously piqued so much curiosity from the pair of children. He then calmly paced towards the door, passing Jamie and George as Jamie tugged at George’s blue jumper in order to overtake him with greater ease, and grabbed the plain, wooden rounded handle before he ushered for the boys to calm down; then rubbed in his victory in the race towards the door with a triumphant shake of his fist and gaping of his mouth, before he regained composure and opened it.
Not so surprisingly, he was faced by a human Politoed wearing a pink nightgown, who heatedly clasped at the collar of a fifteen-year-old boy who seemed not only exhausted by a previous struggle, but greatly haggard. None other than Mrs. Poone and his own son, Paco.
Paco looked quite similar to his father, in terms of hairstyle and facial features. He also retained a short, brown ponytail that reached his neck, yet receding hair was not a problem as, in fact, he had many locks of hair also falling across his face.
“Mrs. Poone, what owes me the current pleasure?” Paco’s father asked with a fake politeness that luckily seemed to pass over Spoon’s head. Instead of replying, Spoon rudely poked her head through the door, to which Paco’s father gestured for her to continue, “Oh please do come in, don’t wait for any invites,” he said, again with a polite air that was ridden with false intention. But again, Spoon missed the sarcasm.
They both stood there for a while, Paco glancing irritably at Spoon who persisted in holding him by the scruff of the neck, and his father raised an eyebrow, similar to the way he did previously, expectantly.
“Toby, I don’t have time for this, fetch Clarrissa, I need to speak to her.” Spoon might have ordered what she said, and Paco’s father, now known as Toby, disguised a rude hand gesture from below his waist with a small chuckle,
“Terrible sorry Sp- Mrs. Spoon, but I’m afraid Clare is working right at this moment, working hard to earn us money, why, what do you need to see her for?” All this time, Toby never took one glimpse at Paco, who likewise glowered at nobody else other than Spoon.
Spoon shuffled uncomfortably, the idea of speaking to Toby obviously unnerving her,
“Well,” she spoke with a newly found sense of authority, “Your son, Paco here, has been causing mischief in the forest again, harassing Pokemon no less, and I don’t wish to intrude on your parenting,” she waved her hand and shook her head, Toby raising an eyebrow yet again, a mocking grin slowly spreading across his face, “but I’m afraid you’re going to have to keep him under more control if you wish for this to stop happening.” She finished, breathing heavily as if the small amount of speech took much effort.
“So if I wish for this to stop happening, and by ‘this’ you must mean your arrival upon my doorstep with my teenage son in your hand, I must stop my son from traveling out to the forest, where he is least likely to disturb villagers, so he can train his new Pokemon?” At this, Toby gained a similar expression to the exhausted Paco, who now hung, staring at the floor hopelessly.
Spoon sniffed a little, dropped Paco (who stumbled before regaining an upward stance, brushing his creased clothes back to position) and scratched her blubbery cheek with a single forefinger, unaware that the face-mask she wore now lodged itself within her overgrown and over painted nail. “Well,” she continued defiantly and indignantly, “perhaps if you could restrain him from bellowing at the top of his voice while he ‘trained’ (she lengthened the word as if she had never used it before), then there would be no cause for complaint!” She performed the familiar action of placing her hands on her hips and protruding her belly, her sense of appreciation for her words rising by the second.
Toby merely sighed and nodded,
“Okay, okay, Mrs. Poone, I’ll make sure to give him a good long lecture on his appalling behaviour and I’ll perhaps lock him in his room for a couple of days, feeding him on nothing but celery slices and cereal crumbs and I’ll make sure to give him a good educational video on the military and how to act as a young boy.” With this, Mrs. Poone swivelled on the spot and marched away, giving off no sign as to whether she comprehended the enormous sarcastic comment, or to whether she was simply being her pompous old self and finally disappeared behind a row of cottages.
Paco let out a relieved sigh and tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt positioned beneath the plain maroon jumper he wore and cleared his throat,
“Cheers for that, dad, I guess that told her eh?” He made a step to walk inside the house, but Toby didn’t move from his spot at the door – therefore causing another blockade.
Paco looked up at him weirdly before hinting again to the fact that he wanted to enter the house, but still Toby stood.
“What?” Paco said annoyingly, folding his arms.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Paco?” Toby inquired, leaning on the doorframe with his shoulder. Paco glanced around him with a fake bemused expression before speaking out the word, as if it were entirely obvious,
“No.”
The two stood, both retaining the same stance throughout a short period of time, Paco getting more confused by the minute.
“You know that creature you received not so long ago, that thing you’ve been hankering for, for years now, that little thing, the, err…Pokemon? Was it? Yeah, where is that precious little beast?” Toby probed, Paco simply groaned,
“That devil is still in the woods, draining an oak tree of it precious nutrients,” he spoke the last two words with a mocking voice – of a much higher pitch than his usual one. At the lack of movement from his father, Paco added “Besides, he always finds his own way home. He’ll wake me up before daybreak no doubt…” With this, Toby merely sighed and allowed Paco to finally pass through the door.
“Bullet! Behind the rock!” A man within his twenties performed a skillful and agile dive to the rear of a colossal rock formation that stood grand and sturdy amongst the arid, rocky cliff edge. The location was vast and vacant, void of any natural life other than four figures that stood upon the brown cliff and its rocky terrain. No birds flew, no creatures scuttled, not even a bug was present within the dusty and tattered terrain.
In a blur of silver, the man’s Pupitar, aptly named Bullet, sped to his side behind the towering formation, and both took bracing stances.
A resounding whistle, as if a missile flew through the air, filled the dusty atmosphere and finished with a tremendous crash that blew half of the rock clear off – rubble and dust propelled in all directions and falling to the ground with a crumble.
Impelled with marvelous immensity by a thick, strong beam of blindingly white energy, the half of the rock-face was fired through the dry air, and took a silent tumble from the edge of the cliff, plummeting to a crumbling demise.
With it, the beam faded and thinned within seconds until it had disappeared completely from view and silence swiftly ensued.
Before the rock, now half-rock, stood a burly man dressed in a suit of orange and black, his defined face gradually wrinkling with age and his short-cut once dark brown hair was awfully grey. Perhaps the hefty man’s most outstanding feature was his lack of eyebrows.
However, Giovanni’s intimidating stature and persona was far from unapproachable at that current moment. His face was soaked with sweat and his suit was torn in various places, most of it coated in thick brown dust; scratches littering his bared skin. His expression panicked and exhausted; he stood with a hunch, barely finding himself able to breathe let alone stand with posture.
Beside him, equally as fatigued and with an expression of utmost dread and ache, was his trusted Persian. Her catlike stance was faltering and her once beautifully glossy and groomed cream coat was scarred, blood mixing with grit to form murky patches of darkened crimson. She was breathing with troubled labour, wheezing deeply as if she had just pulled off a formidable attack. Her gem glinted in the beating rays of sunlight.
As a long period of howling wind echoed throughout the dusty atmosphere, no action at all visible before the gasping two, Giovanni’s heavy breathing began to fade. It came to a halt and he lifted himself to an upright stance, his eyes wide while transfixed to the half-blown rock ahead of him.
There was no sign of movement. No sign of presence. Though he had no desire to rush to conclusions, Giovanni couldn’t help but submit to his dawning glee.
“Persian!” He growled, the cat’s head snapping upwards at the call of her name, “Check behind the rock…” Giovanni squinted as he ordered the move. The Persian hesitated with a pained flinch and frown before she began to limp forward with caution, sticking close to the rear of the rock.
There was another unbroken silence, the light-footed Pokemon producing no sound as she limped ahead, at a gradual pace.
Though she needn’t have reached the rock before a shout of pain and thud of a collapsing form resounded from behind her.
Her head swiveled to discover her master’s limp body upon the floor, and what seemed like a giant bullet pelting towards her.
With the last of her reflexes, the Persian ducked for her life and shut her eyes tightly in fear. The sound of rushing air was hastily heard from above, the obvious sign on the Pupitar’s passing, and the Persian leapt to her feet despite the protest of every pained limb in her body.
Her intentions were to attack the Pupitar as best she could then aid her master; but within a split second her intentions were destroyed. Her declared enemy, the man that her master despised and had taught her to do so likewise stood before her, his stature confident and his expression…happy.
His figure had blocked the light of the sun, and so faded his facial details, hidden behind shadow. But one thing that the Persian did notice about the trainer was his possession of a Pokeball within his right hand. He stood, his elbow upon his hip, casually throwing it about the air, its intended destination obvious.
She couldn’t allow it, and with great strain, the Persian lunged maliciously for the man ahead of her with a loud hiss, her glinting teeth bared viciously.
She landed with deftness upon his chest and commenced in tearing at his body as he collapsed to the ground, her razor-sharp claws hacking at his skin with an almost smooth ease.
His howls of pain and struggle hurt her ears and magnified the immense pain within her head, but all thoughts of her own agony were determinedly set aside. Her throbbing paws were numbed with pain as she continued to tear vigorously, blood staining her fur and trickling to the hard floor.
She took a deep breath, and with the last of her efforts made a malignant swing for his neck, releasing a formidable hiss. Her eyes flickered to her right, where a shadow loomed but she brought the claw down with a massive amount of strength nonetheless.
The sharp points failed in touching the skin. With a force that could have impaled her innards, the Persian was caught in full blow of Bullet, who succeeded in reaching her before her lethal blow could be delivered and managed to propel her from his friend in the nick of time.
Nothing she had ever felt compared to the excruciating pain she felt at that moment. Not a limb within her body, not one was clear of pain. She was winded, immobile, inches away from death.
But a glance at her master, who struggled to his feet with a stumble, forced her upwards and upon her own. She could see the Pupitar that had recently pummeled her side nursing his trainer back to his feet.
Regaining what was left of her energy, breathing deeply and bracing herself for the fight that would soon ensue, the Persian lowered her head; thoughts and images of the battle began to flash through her mind. They had been fighting now for little over an hour – battling hard and relentlessly, each opponent diligent in their persistence to continue without fainting before the other.
She had released more energy and effort than she had ever thought possible for her body to achieve, but the importance and sheer equality of power in this battle shone through her master’s expressions and words – constantly urging her spirit and strengthening her to the point of exhaustion.
But she’d fight to the death for her master. He was good to her, he always was, he had brought her up to be what she was now – his strongest companion.
Her eyes flickered and her senses began to tingle. Within a second, she glanced at the trainer who she’d attacked. His Pupitar was no longer by his side, and he was beginning to rise.
She took her view to her master.
“No!” Her eyes were flooded with a ferocity so immense they glowed, and her claws stretched and stabbed at the dusty terrain.
Time slowed with her stilling heartbeat as she took off towards her master. Her paws hit the ground silently as she sprinted forwards, her eyes transfixed upon her struggling master. Her breath was non-existent as she darted forward.
Meters away from him, the Persian leapt to her feet in a lunge that pained her more than ever, but numbed her senses almost to the point of blindness.
Her precision was formidable. There was a voluble crunch that resounded through the vastness of the area, and the silver blur that flew towards Giovanni was knocked from its course by the dexterous cat.
Both tumbled through the air, the Persian’s body limp and helpless, and Bullet’s bemused and uncontrollable.
Persian, unconscious before contact, hit the ground first; her lifeless form skidding through the dust that layered the rock before rolling helplessly towards the cliff edge.
Bullet, unable to pinpoint his position and bewildered by the speeding objects that seemed to fly from all angles, began to loose consciousness – pain from the previous collision was small to begin with, and faded rather quickly, but the force it had induced upon him had certainly made an effect.
Giovanni, barely mobile and no longer able to pull off quick thinking actions simply watched on as his trusted and loyal companion hopelessly continued to its inevitable fate – inside he grieved, though not even this could break through the steely exterior of his expression; his face was still hardened with determination and seriousness.
Yet Giovanni couldn’t help but at least widen his eyes as they set upon his final friend for the last seconds of her presence. But, although at that point it seemed certain the Persian would take the fall, the way in which she had finally departed from her master was not at all expected.
A small sphere, in a blur of red and white, had sped into Giovanni’s vision, and its destination was clear.
With a blinding flash that caused Giovanni to squint, the Persian was struck and disappeared from view – her form transformed into a mass of white, and forcibly sucked into the opened sphere.
Giovanni had finally broken. His face dropped, eyes wide with terror and his muscles gave way, emitting a thud as his heavy form took to the hard, cracked ground.
The sphere had landed right on the cliff’s border, and began to wobble lightly, yet unstably enough to cause concern. However, it didn’t take long for the mechanical ping that ensued; signifying the Persian’s capture and safe wellbeing.
He’d never kept Persian within a Pokeball. She was never captured that way. She was open for containment within a Pokeball.
The silence that would have continued from then on was hastily broken by a hard thud, Bullet finally making contact with the ground and skidding to a heavy halt just before the immobile Pokeball. Although exhausted from the previous throw-about through the air, Bullet had managed to keep aware and successfully managed to keep himself away from the fatal fall.
As he hopped upright with a rocky stomp onto the ground, Giovanni had snapped from his frozen state and glared at the Pokemon ahead of him, beside the Pokemon that was no longer his own.
He then took his sights to his right, face twitching as emotions conflicted within his mind, and was greeted with the towering, yet injured form of his enemy inches away from his body.
His first instinct was to retaliate, but his protesting muscles won over swiftly and he did nothing but stare at the man’s legs, the denim of his jeans torn and bloody.
“It’s over, Giovanni,” came his voice. Though his state was poor, his voice still retained the determination that he had demonstrated through the battle previous, and was as steady as the rock that surrounded the two.
Nothing else could be comprehended, and Giovanni felt the hard ground meet his face before all had faded away.
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Gawd I hate this chapter. And if you did too, do tell me! =D But as a constructive critisism of course...
But not only did that sound crap, but the fic was too crap to even be worth it so I figured, what the heck, I'll post the thing now!
Really not much to say, I'll have to edit things in as I think of them, because I did have like a whole speech ready when I planned this out >.>;;
I'm not pleased with this chapter, which kind of sucks seeing as its the opening v_v...
But anyways, I'm just gonna post the fic now and shut up.
Paco
(Haw haw, fancy big title!)Chapters as they Progress:
Chapter One: Rockets Plummet (That's right, no prologue)
Chapter Two: Icy Blue
Chapter One: Rockets Plummet
A recurring wooden tap echoed through countless trees of an autumnal forest, every now and again it occurred, it was accompanied by a strained grunt.
As a single Seedot hung firmly attached the branch of a particularly tall oak tree, swaying a little due to reasons quite unknown to himself, he happily feasted upon the nutrients the plant had to offer and pondered over his current situation. He felt a small pain at his side and again began to sway with a little more momentum.
It was odd; this quite random pain at his side simply kept returning again and again within intervals of silence and absorption and for some similarly bizarre reason, he kept swaying, again and again at a comparable rate.
His eyes, perfectly circular yet half hidden behind his teal-coloured hat, which was akin to that of an acorn’s, were void of emotion and stared blankly ahead of him at the long, rough trunk of a fir tree. Every now and again, the tree before him seemed to move simultaneously with his movement, yet nothing had seemed to cause the movement other than this pain.
Another pain. Another sway. Another moving tree.
It took another stab of pain for the Seedot to connect the two together and see that this pain was the actual cause of his movement, and therefore the cause of the affronted tree’s. Though he was still completely baffled as to what the pain came from.
But as a moment of silence and stillness ensued, the Seedot began to muse – and forgot completely of this pain altogether. The tree he currently hung on certainly was a good source of energy. It was abundant with the nutrients he needed, though he did not know why he needed them, something inside just told him to get them.
He often felt the need to do things, as if forced by some magical power. Such as remaining within the presence of a certain being, that provided for him and was there when he first opened his eyes.
If Seedot’s were blessed with mouths upon their creation, this particular Pokemon would have at that moment smiled.
Another sharp pain at his side caused him to swing with quite a larger force this time – and also for the first time, the long silence that had blessed the tranquil forest was broken; by a familiar sound…
“DAMN IT, SEEDOT! GET THE HELL OUTTA THAT BLESSED TREE!”
Paco Quinn, a boy of recent fifteen years, and owner-slash-parent of a particularly disobedient and deranged Seedot, knelt hopelessly amongst the multicoloured leaves which had long since dropped from the tree before him; his face, clothes and hands all equally haggard and dirty.
His eyes, of the same hue as that of the bark facing him, glared maliciously above at some kind of rounded form that swayed lightly; attached quite firmly to one of the many grand oak’s leafless branches and began to scrutinize its position for any weak spots it may have retained.
With some evident frustration, Paco snatched at a nearby acorn and forcefully got to his feet, despite the protest of his aching limbs. He raised his arm behind his head and squinted a little, obviously aiming for the Seedot that hung and swung quite innocently and obliviously above him.
Then with immense effort, he launched the acorn upon which it successfully managed to hit the Seedot’s side and caused it to sway a small bit, yellowed leaves fluttering to the ground at the slight force. Though the intention of his parting from the tree’s branch was to no avail; for the Seedot continued to hang and sway with similar strength as before. And to make the matter quite worse, the very acorn that he had thrown came plummeting back to the ground and effectively managed to land square in between Paco’s eyes.
He let out a yelp of pain as the acorn bounced off and hit the intended ground with a soft thud, and for the fourth or fifth time, he collapsed on his knees; using a hand for support and a hand to nurse the red lump that was rapidly beginning to rise upon his forehead.
“Damn you, Seedot! Damn you to hell!” He cursed towards the floor, squinting in pain while he rubbed his throbbing head.
If Seedot’s were blessed with mouths, Paco would have been sure that the little demon was sniggering at his discomfort right at that moment.
“PACO QUINN! I might have known!”
Paco gave a lingered groan, as if his life couldn’t worsen to greater extent after the sudden appearance of this particular person.
Close behind him, with a leer that could set the leaves beneath him aflame and smacking her open hand with a large bludgeon, was Paco’s bossy, prying, and downright ugly neighbour, Mrs. Poone.
Paco didn’t even have to turn to know what she wore, most likely a face mask of sorts and a silky pink gown complete with white frills at every possible crevice.
Nor did he have to turn to notice it was her presence, the shrill voice, the over-the-top pronunciation of every word she uttered, the strangled breathing. Yeah, Mrs. Poone alright…
“Harassing defenseless wild Pokemon again are we?”
Before she could continue, Paco leapt up and snapped, pivoting to face the green-faced, bludgeon-wielding Politoed of a woman,
“Quiet, Spoon! I’ve told you to stay out of my business! This Pokemon,” he pointed madly behind him, inaccurately indicating the Seedot that continued to hang firmly upon the branch, “actually belongs to me! Now I’m sick-”
“How dare you!” Spoon interrupted (Paco had gotten quite accustomed to calling Mrs. Poone Spoon, due to the obvious pronunciation of her actual name), her once cucumber-concealed eyes bulging with utmost rage; completely ignoring Paco’s rant like she always did to every bit of speech he spoke, “How dare you!” She repeated, by then her bludgeon tapping coming to a slow halt.
Paco’s expression dropped exhaustedly and he commenced in rubbing the lump on his forehead again, its pain somehow magnified.
“Just you wait Paco Quinn, just you wait! You’re to come with me this instance, from which I will take you back to your own house and inform your mother of your utter insolence!” Her already fit-to-burst stomach protruded a little further and she placed her hands with notable indignation upon her wide hips, her mouth curving with rage, yet the corners giving off signs of her pride at her ‘achievement’.
Instead of taking any heed to her angered words whatsoever, Paco swiveled on the spot and mimicked Spoon’s action of hands-to-hip, observing his Seedot from afar in an attempt to discover a way to allow its release from the branch on which it firmly hung. As he observed and planned, Paco took no notice of the indignant grunt that emitted from behind him.
Again, as he roughly measured the height of the tree then the width of its base, Paco chose not to comprehend the clearing of a throat that made itself quite prominent from behind him.
It wasn’t until five seconds after a third attempt at grabbing his attention that Spoon finally broke.
“That is it! You come with me this instant, Paco, or I will release Bodger!” Her words were pronounced a little more prominently than as usual as she said this, and her anger was clearly audible.
Instead of snapping, Paco came to the conclusion that perhaps a softer approach would have had better effect. With that thought in mind, he slowly turned to face the expected trembling, boulder of a figure of Spoon and spoke in his softest, most matured voice he could,
“Now I can understand your anger, Mrs. Spoon (he couldn’t resist slipping in the hidden utterance), but I must tell you that this Seedot is actually my own, and has been since my fifteenth birthday, which, might I add, was but two days ago-”
“BODGER GO!” There was a small rounded blur of red and white, ensued by a bright flash of white and sparks, before an enormous, humanoid figure had materialized between the two people.
Its hands, retaining but three wide fingers, were larger than Paco’s head alone – perhaps double that, and Paco thought undoubtedly that it would be able to lift his form without any trouble whatsoever, owing to its bulging muscles – of which were most obvious in his legs, which resembled two overgrown pumpkins more than legs themselves. Its head, if one could call it a head, was certainly odd to say the least. It appeared that its mouth was concealed behind a fleshy mask of muscle and bone that formed a downward point to a place on its chest, a triangular area at the tip coloured a brown hue other than the beige of the rest of the skin. Its eyes were not far off slits and were positioned beneath two blue strips of perhaps bone or material that met just before the rest of the face became hidden.
Paco had seen the released Pokemon all too many times before, yet the sheer sight of it never failed to spark the tiniest bit of awe, considering it did belong to Spoon after all. Just its towering size and bulging muscles deemed it to seem unstoppable and unbeatable.
The Hariyama let out a deep rumbling growl upon his appearance, its arms resting lazily on his meter-wide legs, his colossal muscles flexing by his mere act of breathing.
Once getting over his small state of admiration, Paco blinked vigorously and returned to his outraged expression, staring maliciously at Spoon, who stared with a quite similar expression back.
“Bodger, grab this ignorant runt and bring him with me back home. His harassing of wild Pokemon is reason enough for physical contact.” She added with a sneer, brandishing her bludgeon towards Paco. Before any protest could even be uttered, Paco felt what felt like three tree trunks encase and compress his whole body before he was lifted from the leaf-strewn ground with such ease it was as if he were a leaf himself. It wasn’t until he comprehended his situation that Paco began his screams of protest, trying his damnedest to struggle yet firmly prevented from doing so by the sheer strength of Bodger’s hand.
“Spoon you witch! You’re not a policewoman anymore; get the hell off of me!” He yelled malignantly, his words falling upon deaf ears as it echoed through the trees.
“Hear me, Spoon! I’ll kick your *** one day! Let’s see you ridicule and pester me then!” Still, the purely smug Spoon waddled onwards without a second thought upon Paco’s threatening words, perhaps, Paco thought, dreaming of what she’d cook for third breakfast that morning.
Finally comprehending that his cries were to little avail, Paco strained to turn his head behind him to try and catch a glimpse of Seedot. Sure enough, he was still in the exact same spot, staring blankly at the exact same tree as if his trainer did not and never had existed and as if the singular most important thing in the whole world was to rile him senseless while hanging off a tree branch that was inches too high.
Sighing with great annoyance, Paco finally relaxed his body and stared a fiery stare at Spoon who plodded on ahead of Bodger’s heavy footsteps and Paco’s helpless form.
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“Here George, take a whiff of this stuff!” A young boy of nine years knelt before a rounded wooden table, scrutinizing a thick orange substance that almost seemed to bubble within its transparent, five by five centimeter container, disgust obvious within his piercing blue eyes.
With thick brown hair messier than a wild Poochyena’s and a cockney accent that could easily confuse him with a London ragamuffin; you’d never believe that Jamie Quinn was in fact a very lucky child, living in a well-spoken, prideful family of five – brought up a well mannered and well educated young man.
Standing close by, with much neater, longer and straighter brown hair, and retaining an expression similar to Jamie’s, was George Quinn.
Lowering himself to the level of Jamie, George’s head hovered above the goopy liquid and with a small scrunch of the side of his nose; he took a small ‘whiff’ of the substance. He took a long while to actually react, before he pulled a face of utmost displeasure and began to make peculiar choking sounds with his tongue protruding, which seemed to entertain Jamie to a high extent as he giggled boyishly by his side.
“Oh stop it you two! Go out and play or something and stop hanging around beneath my feet!” The pestered voice above the two belonged to a man in his late thirties, his once lengthy brown hair slightly receding around his forehead and graying around the ponytail that hung short, barely reaching the back of his head. He bore quite unusual clothing for a man, the frilly pink apron standing out quite a bit from the rest of his appearance, especially seeing as it contrasted greatly with his orange shirt and green cargo trousers.
“Aw, come on, dad, its not like we can do anythin’. Believe it or not, only one person owns somethin’ remotely entertaining in this house…” Jamie stated - his later statement spoke as more of a mumble. The two boys rose from the chessboard-akin tiled floor and went to leave the room, only to become blocked by their tall-standing father, who held the feather duster in his hand so it pointed to the ceiling and placing his free hand upon his hip.
Jamie glanced up at him, his attempt at ridding the mischievous guilt from his face failing dismally. Instead of speaking, his father merely cocked an eyebrow expectantly, to which Jamie droned, “Okay, okay, we’re too young for Pokemon.” He sighed and made a movement to pass the blockade, but a twitch in his father’s stance brought him and George to an abrupt halt,
“And?” He probed, stooping a little,
“And Paco got the Pokemon for his birthday, not as a gift but as a reward.” George finished indignantly, obviously as annoyed at the matter as Jamie,
“Thank you kindly,” their father replied, turning a full ninety degrees to allow their passing.
As the two made for the stairs, all actions became frozen at the strong wooden rapping that resounded through the house.
“Door!” The boys yelled in excited unison and they both commenced in a series of stumbles and tumbles, much like a dance, as they fought towards the front door, which was painted a pretty sky blue colour, and matched well with the blue-tainted white of the kitchen walls.
While they struggled to the door, their father sighed and placed the duster upon the kitchen table, beside the orange substance that had previously piqued so much curiosity from the pair of children. He then calmly paced towards the door, passing Jamie and George as Jamie tugged at George’s blue jumper in order to overtake him with greater ease, and grabbed the plain, wooden rounded handle before he ushered for the boys to calm down; then rubbed in his victory in the race towards the door with a triumphant shake of his fist and gaping of his mouth, before he regained composure and opened it.
Not so surprisingly, he was faced by a human Politoed wearing a pink nightgown, who heatedly clasped at the collar of a fifteen-year-old boy who seemed not only exhausted by a previous struggle, but greatly haggard. None other than Mrs. Poone and his own son, Paco.
Paco looked quite similar to his father, in terms of hairstyle and facial features. He also retained a short, brown ponytail that reached his neck, yet receding hair was not a problem as, in fact, he had many locks of hair also falling across his face.
“Mrs. Poone, what owes me the current pleasure?” Paco’s father asked with a fake politeness that luckily seemed to pass over Spoon’s head. Instead of replying, Spoon rudely poked her head through the door, to which Paco’s father gestured for her to continue, “Oh please do come in, don’t wait for any invites,” he said, again with a polite air that was ridden with false intention. But again, Spoon missed the sarcasm.
They both stood there for a while, Paco glancing irritably at Spoon who persisted in holding him by the scruff of the neck, and his father raised an eyebrow, similar to the way he did previously, expectantly.
“Toby, I don’t have time for this, fetch Clarrissa, I need to speak to her.” Spoon might have ordered what she said, and Paco’s father, now known as Toby, disguised a rude hand gesture from below his waist with a small chuckle,
“Terrible sorry Sp- Mrs. Spoon, but I’m afraid Clare is working right at this moment, working hard to earn us money, why, what do you need to see her for?” All this time, Toby never took one glimpse at Paco, who likewise glowered at nobody else other than Spoon.
Spoon shuffled uncomfortably, the idea of speaking to Toby obviously unnerving her,
“Well,” she spoke with a newly found sense of authority, “Your son, Paco here, has been causing mischief in the forest again, harassing Pokemon no less, and I don’t wish to intrude on your parenting,” she waved her hand and shook her head, Toby raising an eyebrow yet again, a mocking grin slowly spreading across his face, “but I’m afraid you’re going to have to keep him under more control if you wish for this to stop happening.” She finished, breathing heavily as if the small amount of speech took much effort.
“So if I wish for this to stop happening, and by ‘this’ you must mean your arrival upon my doorstep with my teenage son in your hand, I must stop my son from traveling out to the forest, where he is least likely to disturb villagers, so he can train his new Pokemon?” At this, Toby gained a similar expression to the exhausted Paco, who now hung, staring at the floor hopelessly.
Spoon sniffed a little, dropped Paco (who stumbled before regaining an upward stance, brushing his creased clothes back to position) and scratched her blubbery cheek with a single forefinger, unaware that the face-mask she wore now lodged itself within her overgrown and over painted nail. “Well,” she continued defiantly and indignantly, “perhaps if you could restrain him from bellowing at the top of his voice while he ‘trained’ (she lengthened the word as if she had never used it before), then there would be no cause for complaint!” She performed the familiar action of placing her hands on her hips and protruding her belly, her sense of appreciation for her words rising by the second.
Toby merely sighed and nodded,
“Okay, okay, Mrs. Poone, I’ll make sure to give him a good long lecture on his appalling behaviour and I’ll perhaps lock him in his room for a couple of days, feeding him on nothing but celery slices and cereal crumbs and I’ll make sure to give him a good educational video on the military and how to act as a young boy.” With this, Mrs. Poone swivelled on the spot and marched away, giving off no sign as to whether she comprehended the enormous sarcastic comment, or to whether she was simply being her pompous old self and finally disappeared behind a row of cottages.
Paco let out a relieved sigh and tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt positioned beneath the plain maroon jumper he wore and cleared his throat,
“Cheers for that, dad, I guess that told her eh?” He made a step to walk inside the house, but Toby didn’t move from his spot at the door – therefore causing another blockade.
Paco looked up at him weirdly before hinting again to the fact that he wanted to enter the house, but still Toby stood.
“What?” Paco said annoyingly, folding his arms.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Paco?” Toby inquired, leaning on the doorframe with his shoulder. Paco glanced around him with a fake bemused expression before speaking out the word, as if it were entirely obvious,
“No.”
The two stood, both retaining the same stance throughout a short period of time, Paco getting more confused by the minute.
“You know that creature you received not so long ago, that thing you’ve been hankering for, for years now, that little thing, the, err…Pokemon? Was it? Yeah, where is that precious little beast?” Toby probed, Paco simply groaned,
“That devil is still in the woods, draining an oak tree of it precious nutrients,” he spoke the last two words with a mocking voice – of a much higher pitch than his usual one. At the lack of movement from his father, Paco added “Besides, he always finds his own way home. He’ll wake me up before daybreak no doubt…” With this, Toby merely sighed and allowed Paco to finally pass through the door.
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“Bullet! Behind the rock!” A man within his twenties performed a skillful and agile dive to the rear of a colossal rock formation that stood grand and sturdy amongst the arid, rocky cliff edge. The location was vast and vacant, void of any natural life other than four figures that stood upon the brown cliff and its rocky terrain. No birds flew, no creatures scuttled, not even a bug was present within the dusty and tattered terrain.
In a blur of silver, the man’s Pupitar, aptly named Bullet, sped to his side behind the towering formation, and both took bracing stances.
A resounding whistle, as if a missile flew through the air, filled the dusty atmosphere and finished with a tremendous crash that blew half of the rock clear off – rubble and dust propelled in all directions and falling to the ground with a crumble.
Impelled with marvelous immensity by a thick, strong beam of blindingly white energy, the half of the rock-face was fired through the dry air, and took a silent tumble from the edge of the cliff, plummeting to a crumbling demise.
With it, the beam faded and thinned within seconds until it had disappeared completely from view and silence swiftly ensued.
Before the rock, now half-rock, stood a burly man dressed in a suit of orange and black, his defined face gradually wrinkling with age and his short-cut once dark brown hair was awfully grey. Perhaps the hefty man’s most outstanding feature was his lack of eyebrows.
However, Giovanni’s intimidating stature and persona was far from unapproachable at that current moment. His face was soaked with sweat and his suit was torn in various places, most of it coated in thick brown dust; scratches littering his bared skin. His expression panicked and exhausted; he stood with a hunch, barely finding himself able to breathe let alone stand with posture.
Beside him, equally as fatigued and with an expression of utmost dread and ache, was his trusted Persian. Her catlike stance was faltering and her once beautifully glossy and groomed cream coat was scarred, blood mixing with grit to form murky patches of darkened crimson. She was breathing with troubled labour, wheezing deeply as if she had just pulled off a formidable attack. Her gem glinted in the beating rays of sunlight.
As a long period of howling wind echoed throughout the dusty atmosphere, no action at all visible before the gasping two, Giovanni’s heavy breathing began to fade. It came to a halt and he lifted himself to an upright stance, his eyes wide while transfixed to the half-blown rock ahead of him.
There was no sign of movement. No sign of presence. Though he had no desire to rush to conclusions, Giovanni couldn’t help but submit to his dawning glee.
“Persian!” He growled, the cat’s head snapping upwards at the call of her name, “Check behind the rock…” Giovanni squinted as he ordered the move. The Persian hesitated with a pained flinch and frown before she began to limp forward with caution, sticking close to the rear of the rock.
There was another unbroken silence, the light-footed Pokemon producing no sound as she limped ahead, at a gradual pace.
Though she needn’t have reached the rock before a shout of pain and thud of a collapsing form resounded from behind her.
Her head swiveled to discover her master’s limp body upon the floor, and what seemed like a giant bullet pelting towards her.
With the last of her reflexes, the Persian ducked for her life and shut her eyes tightly in fear. The sound of rushing air was hastily heard from above, the obvious sign on the Pupitar’s passing, and the Persian leapt to her feet despite the protest of every pained limb in her body.
Her intentions were to attack the Pupitar as best she could then aid her master; but within a split second her intentions were destroyed. Her declared enemy, the man that her master despised and had taught her to do so likewise stood before her, his stature confident and his expression…happy.
His figure had blocked the light of the sun, and so faded his facial details, hidden behind shadow. But one thing that the Persian did notice about the trainer was his possession of a Pokeball within his right hand. He stood, his elbow upon his hip, casually throwing it about the air, its intended destination obvious.
She couldn’t allow it, and with great strain, the Persian lunged maliciously for the man ahead of her with a loud hiss, her glinting teeth bared viciously.
She landed with deftness upon his chest and commenced in tearing at his body as he collapsed to the ground, her razor-sharp claws hacking at his skin with an almost smooth ease.
His howls of pain and struggle hurt her ears and magnified the immense pain within her head, but all thoughts of her own agony were determinedly set aside. Her throbbing paws were numbed with pain as she continued to tear vigorously, blood staining her fur and trickling to the hard floor.
She took a deep breath, and with the last of her efforts made a malignant swing for his neck, releasing a formidable hiss. Her eyes flickered to her right, where a shadow loomed but she brought the claw down with a massive amount of strength nonetheless.
The sharp points failed in touching the skin. With a force that could have impaled her innards, the Persian was caught in full blow of Bullet, who succeeded in reaching her before her lethal blow could be delivered and managed to propel her from his friend in the nick of time.
Nothing she had ever felt compared to the excruciating pain she felt at that moment. Not a limb within her body, not one was clear of pain. She was winded, immobile, inches away from death.
But a glance at her master, who struggled to his feet with a stumble, forced her upwards and upon her own. She could see the Pupitar that had recently pummeled her side nursing his trainer back to his feet.
Regaining what was left of her energy, breathing deeply and bracing herself for the fight that would soon ensue, the Persian lowered her head; thoughts and images of the battle began to flash through her mind. They had been fighting now for little over an hour – battling hard and relentlessly, each opponent diligent in their persistence to continue without fainting before the other.
She had released more energy and effort than she had ever thought possible for her body to achieve, but the importance and sheer equality of power in this battle shone through her master’s expressions and words – constantly urging her spirit and strengthening her to the point of exhaustion.
But she’d fight to the death for her master. He was good to her, he always was, he had brought her up to be what she was now – his strongest companion.
Her eyes flickered and her senses began to tingle. Within a second, she glanced at the trainer who she’d attacked. His Pupitar was no longer by his side, and he was beginning to rise.
She took her view to her master.
“No!” Her eyes were flooded with a ferocity so immense they glowed, and her claws stretched and stabbed at the dusty terrain.
Time slowed with her stilling heartbeat as she took off towards her master. Her paws hit the ground silently as she sprinted forwards, her eyes transfixed upon her struggling master. Her breath was non-existent as she darted forward.
Meters away from him, the Persian leapt to her feet in a lunge that pained her more than ever, but numbed her senses almost to the point of blindness.
Her precision was formidable. There was a voluble crunch that resounded through the vastness of the area, and the silver blur that flew towards Giovanni was knocked from its course by the dexterous cat.
Both tumbled through the air, the Persian’s body limp and helpless, and Bullet’s bemused and uncontrollable.
Persian, unconscious before contact, hit the ground first; her lifeless form skidding through the dust that layered the rock before rolling helplessly towards the cliff edge.
Bullet, unable to pinpoint his position and bewildered by the speeding objects that seemed to fly from all angles, began to loose consciousness – pain from the previous collision was small to begin with, and faded rather quickly, but the force it had induced upon him had certainly made an effect.
Giovanni, barely mobile and no longer able to pull off quick thinking actions simply watched on as his trusted and loyal companion hopelessly continued to its inevitable fate – inside he grieved, though not even this could break through the steely exterior of his expression; his face was still hardened with determination and seriousness.
Yet Giovanni couldn’t help but at least widen his eyes as they set upon his final friend for the last seconds of her presence. But, although at that point it seemed certain the Persian would take the fall, the way in which she had finally departed from her master was not at all expected.
A small sphere, in a blur of red and white, had sped into Giovanni’s vision, and its destination was clear.
With a blinding flash that caused Giovanni to squint, the Persian was struck and disappeared from view – her form transformed into a mass of white, and forcibly sucked into the opened sphere.
Giovanni had finally broken. His face dropped, eyes wide with terror and his muscles gave way, emitting a thud as his heavy form took to the hard, cracked ground.
The sphere had landed right on the cliff’s border, and began to wobble lightly, yet unstably enough to cause concern. However, it didn’t take long for the mechanical ping that ensued; signifying the Persian’s capture and safe wellbeing.
He’d never kept Persian within a Pokeball. She was never captured that way. She was open for containment within a Pokeball.
The silence that would have continued from then on was hastily broken by a hard thud, Bullet finally making contact with the ground and skidding to a heavy halt just before the immobile Pokeball. Although exhausted from the previous throw-about through the air, Bullet had managed to keep aware and successfully managed to keep himself away from the fatal fall.
As he hopped upright with a rocky stomp onto the ground, Giovanni had snapped from his frozen state and glared at the Pokemon ahead of him, beside the Pokemon that was no longer his own.
He then took his sights to his right, face twitching as emotions conflicted within his mind, and was greeted with the towering, yet injured form of his enemy inches away from his body.
His first instinct was to retaliate, but his protesting muscles won over swiftly and he did nothing but stare at the man’s legs, the denim of his jeans torn and bloody.
“It’s over, Giovanni,” came his voice. Though his state was poor, his voice still retained the determination that he had demonstrated through the battle previous, and was as steady as the rock that surrounded the two.
Nothing else could be comprehended, and Giovanni felt the hard ground meet his face before all had faded away.
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Gawd I hate this chapter. And if you did too, do tell me! =D But as a constructive critisism of course...
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. But I'll take your advice for the future.