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Penultimate

Chozo

My Serebii face
I was wondering if bumping to post this would make me an attention-whoring douchebag, but it looks like some of you guys saved me the moral conflict, so thanks.

So...

Good news everyone! [/Farnsworth]

First draft of chapter 4 is done. In first draft stage she clocks in at 32 pages and nearly 12,000 words, making the chapter nearly as long as the first three combined (and I'm far more proud of these numbers than I should have any right to be). Hopefully she'll be ready for posting by the weekend.

Also, bobandbill and other people who have pointed out parts where my grammar took a Sunday drive to Shittytown will be happy to know I've made some revisions to the first three chapters. It's minor stuff (phrasing, etc.), but it's still an improvement (albeit in the sense that some pieces of the Titanic are slightly less underwater than other pieces). Expect revised sections to be posted when I can bring myself around to the reality that I have to redo the formatting when I go to edit.

Also also, Sike Saner appears to have not gone into violent cardiac arrest upon reading this, and apparently she's got street cred in the Serebii fanfic community. I guess this means I'm a real fanfic writer now, or something.

OH GOD WHERE DID MY LIFE GO WRONG


...heh heh, sorry about that folks.

And finally...

I'm a little confused though... Is Raticlaw a Raticate evolution of your own invention, or does this particular Raticate just give himself that name?

The former, although that doesn't mean the latter couldn't be true as well.
 

Chozo

My Serebii face
Chapter 4 part 1

Chapter 4

For a psychic, it’s the little things that are the most important.

The uninformed think that psychics can read a person’s thoughts, memories and darkest fears as easily as one can open up a newspaper, but this is not quite true. Sure, psychics can do so, but it requires significant effort on their part and most sentient creatures tend to take offense. Because of this, most psychics learn to discern their target’s thoughts through easily-read parts of the mental process such as surface impressions along with a careful study of nervous habits and physical tics.

And when you have fifteen years of experience and a deeper connection to your subject than most, it’s easier than reading a large print children’s book.

Syl and Caroline were sitting in a dingy fast food restaurant whose unofficial corporate motto was likely “Beat the Health Inspector.” It was late and the two were the only customers left in the building, and so the establishment’s employees had decided to retire to the back of the kitchen, their chattering barely audible over the small building’s air conditioner. Caroline was sitting opposite Syl in the booth, burger and fries haphazardly strewn about her tray as the trainer blankly picked at the food as if she was a vulture who fancied itself a gourmet. One hand idly played with her hair as another hand deposited a fry into the left side of her mouth, where she chewed slowly. Syl was so accustomed to seeing these personal habits that she didn’t need to sense the mix of anxiety and apprehension coming from Caroline’s mind to know what she was thinking.

Maybe it was because Syl had the exact same nervous habits. When two beings are mentally connected together from birth it can be hard to tell what unconscious behaviors come from who. Syl was a psychic and it was all she had ever known since birth, and so she accepted it as a matter of course.

In any event Syl was well aware that Caroline’s thoughts were not currently open to discussion, so the Gardevoir chose to occupy herself with a mystery of her own. She had told Caroline that Raticlaw’s mental presence was unmistakable, and that was true. What she hadn’t pointed out was that his thoughts were utterly incomprehensible to her, the mental equivalent of trying to catch a greased piglet after rolling around in motor oil.

Not being able to pierce his thoughts wasn’t the part that bothered her: she was used to dark types being an impenetrable black stain in her mental vision, their mental presences a shapeless, amorphous blob that slipped through any psychic’s attempt to grasp and manipulate them like water through a sieve. What bothered her was the way he did it: his thoughts were out in the open, yet the more she tried to focus on them the vaguer and more indistinct they became. She had never encountered anything like it: was it the result of evolution, she wondered, or something else.

In short the strange Pokemon was a puzzle to Syl. The Gardevoir considered herself lucky that she happened to like puzzles.

“Let’s go,” Caroline said, breaking Syl out of her reverie. Syl began to protest that she hadn’t finished eating until she looked down at her empty tray. She had been so deep in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that she had finished eating.

***************************************************************

There’s no reason we have to go with him, you know.

The sun had already set, and a full moon was beginning to appear in the night sky along with a small number of stars. The empty streets were periodically lit by lamps that had seen better days and only the sound of the pair’s footfalls and an occasional car broke the night’s silence. Caroline’s heart sank: she knew that Syl had been looking for an opening all day, but she had also been looking forward to enjoying the first evening in which she was not afraid for her life in what seemed like forever.

“Can we not talk about this?” Caroline asked, although there was little conviction in her voice.

You’re aware that you really can’t put this off, yes? Syl asked. Jonah is probably going to want to leave tomorrow, if not sooner.

“You’re not going to leave it be then?”

That’s the general idea, yes.

Syl watched as Caroline took a moment to run her fingers through her hair. “After what happened back in the forest, I really don’t want to travel alone anymore.”

You have me.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Syl continued as if Caroline hadn’t even spoken. And yet you’re placing your faith in a boy we hardly know instead of your best friend? Syl’s “voice” projected a sense of hurt. Do you really trust him that much, or is this just a way to make yourself feel better about what happened?

Syl could feel Caroline’s mood darken. “I nearly lost you,” she said quietly, “I don’t want to ever have to go through that again. Do you understand?”

There was a long silence.

“Look, there’s no reason we have to travel with him forever,” Caroline finally added, “but until we’re stronger having someone at our back can’t hurt.”

“Hey, Caroline!”

Caroline and Syl turned to see Jonah walking out of a buffet towards them, Hariyama and Growlithe in tow. He waved at them and smiled. Caroline felt a sensation of wry amusement emanating from Syl.

Well, speak of the Devil.

***************************************************************

“This isn’t going anywhere,” the Rattata complained.

Raticlaw grunted in a way that suggested that politeness was the only reason he was bothering to acknowledge the figment’s existence. “No ****.”

“Oh God, please help me…”

Raticlaw sank a pair of claws into the thug’s back, causing him to yelp pitifully. “Quit yer *****in’,” he said, twisting his claws for emphasis.

“As fun as it is to watch you play ‘Bad Cop, Bad Cop,’” the Rattata said dryly, “maybe you should try a different approach?”

Raticlaw snorted derisively. “You seem to be full of ideas today. Why don’t you tell me?”

“I only represent a fraction of your brainpower. You think of something.”

Raticlaw opened his mouth to make a retort, but suddenly shut it as inspiration dawned. He stroked his whiskers in thought.

“Brainpower, huh?” he said to no one in particular. “That gives me an idea…”

The thug whimpered. Not only did he have to pick a fight with an overgrown Raticate, he had to pick a fight with an overgrown Raticate that talked to itself.

***************************************************************

Syl gave the Growlithe a critical look.

How did Jonah capture you? she asked again, not sure she had heard correctly.

Some Pokemon species are naturally predisposed to proficiency and fascination with the spoken word, while others treat language strictly as a tool for conveying information and treat those obsessed with the art behind it with roughly the same enthusiasm that people give to a trainspotter discussing his hobby. Growlithe are an example of the latter.

“He gave food,” Growlithe replied in a curt series of barks.

So you consider him your master?

Growlithe gave it some thought. “Will he keep giving food?”

“Why not?” Jonah replied. He had never considered that this would be a point on which a Pokemon would base its loyalty: it was a way of thinking alien to someone who had never had to root through a garbage can for his next meal.

“Good enough,” the Growlithe said. “That good too.”

Caroline smiled slightly as she kept scratching Growlithe behind the ears, causing the puppy Pokemon to exhale in satisfaction.

“Needs a bath and a checkup, but he’s cute,” Caroline said. “Where’d you find him?”

Caroline watched as Jonah’s good mood almost instantly evaporated. “He and Raticlaw were fighting over garbage.”

Caroline began to look around. “You found Raticlaw? Where is he?”

“I told him not to fight over garbage. He…didn’t take it that well.”

Caroline—knowing what she did about Jonah and Raticlaw’s relationship—filled in the blanks. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So he’s not coming back?” she asked.

“Who knows?” Jonah said. “He can go screw himself as far as I care.”

Jonah looked up to the sky. The moon was making its steady climb towards its zenith.

“Come on, let’s go back to the center,” he said. His two Pokemon went with him as he began to walk away, and after a moment’s hesitation Syl and Caroline followed.

The two humans and three Pokemon made their way down the quiet streets towards the Pokemon center. The Growlithe grunted contently, happy to have had a full meal without swallowing a piece of packaging in the process. The puppy and psychic walked beside their respective trainers while Hachiman followed the group but a step behind, deferring to Jonah’s authority and the limiting width of the sidewalk.
“Little *******,” Jonah suddenly said without provocation, apparently eager to hear himself talk about how much he didn’t like Raticlaw. Caroline said nothing as Jonah ranted: given the already rocky relationship boy and rat had established over the past few days, she thought it wise to let him vent.

“I don’t get him,” Jonah complained, kicking at a stray soda can. “He has to be right about the stupidest things, or he gets ******.”

And you were hoping Raticlaw would come along too, Syl said to Caroline in a tone that suggested “I told you so.” Still think that’s a good idea?

I never said anything about that, Caroline thought, knowing that her Gardevoir could read her thoughts and hoping to keep the conversation private.

You were thinking it.

We could do worse, Caroline thought.

We could also do better than a cantankerous rodent, Syl retorted. You know I’m with you all the way, she added, forestalling Caroline’s response, but I don’t think it’s wise to trust someone so…capricious.

Syl watched as Caroline digested this. Trainer and Pokemon had no doubts about his battle prowess and both knew he had he had technically fulfilled his promise to bring them this far (even if they had been carrying him a decent part of the way), but there was no guarantee he would go any further. More importantly, neither of them were sure what had motivated him to do so in the first place. Pride? Duty? Ego? Given what they had experienced so far, probably the third.

I’m glad you’re thinking of me, Syl said, but--

Syl stopped in midstride, gaze fixated on something in the distance. What was unnerving was that she appeared to be attempting to gaze through a wall not six feet in front of her face. The spectacle was enough to cause even Jonah to stop in midrant.

Hachiman looked to Jonah. Jonah looked to Caroline. Caroline shrugged at Jonah. Jonah shrugged at Hachiman. Hachiman decided to take the initiative.

“Lady Syl, are you alright?” Hachiman ventured. The Gardevoir seemed to ignore him, her gaze unwavering.

It’s Raticlaw, she finally said. He’s…calling to us?

***************************************************************

The town had definitely seen better days. While the section nearly the highway was still relatively bustling and hence good for business, much of the outer part of the town was little more than a lengthy patch of urban blight, a motley collection of squat brick buildings with “For Sale” signs, graffiti, and plywood-covered windows.

The group stood before a two story structure that at one point might have been an office building but now served as an Ozymandian tribute to capitalism instead. Barring present company, it seemed that nothing alive had even bothered with this side of town.

“So, this is the place?” Caroline said, looking over the building.

Yes, Syl replied. He wants to be found.

They watched as Jonah pored over the the building, trying to find a way inside. Any apparent entrance had been locked or nailed shut a long time ago. Jonah yanked at the handle on a side door, but the door refusing to yield even an inch. Hachiman stood right behind him, watching intently.

“Maybe we should help him find a way in,” Caroline suggested.

“Do it Hachiman!”

Before Caroline and Syl could react, the Hariyama leveled one mighty palm and brought it forcefully against the door. The sound of eighty pounds of wood being forcefully ripped off its hinges broke the silence with an explosive bang before being followed by the sound of aforementioned eighty pounds of wood succumbing to the force of gravity.

One of the perks of a psychic bond is that speaking is optional. In an instant Syl had read Caroline’s mind and teleported the pair near the doorway where Hachiman was admiring his handiwork. Jonah gave Caroline a grin that suggested what he had done was nothing short of the greatest idea to have ever been conceived by mortal man.

Caroline frowned. “Are you insane?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, as if doing so would somehow make the last several moments transpire more quietly. She felt a sensation from Syl that suggested the psychic type took grim amusement in being right. Caroline tried to ignore it.

“Took you guys long enough,” a voice said gruffly, coming from inside. “Come in.” Jonah and Caroline looked to each other hesitantly before obeying.

What greeted them inside was Raticlaw sitting amidst a veritable mound of office detritus and atop a badly bruised, very scared street thug. The thug—lying flat and sprawled out on the ground--lifted his gaze to look at them, whimpered at the sight of the newcomers and returned to staring at the floor as if trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. The now-ruined door had landed just a couple inches short of his head.

“You know you could have just come through the window,” Raticlaw said, gesturing towards somewhere in the darkness behind him, “but I guess this works too.”

“Sorry,” Caroline said apologetically, shooting Jonah a look. Jonah looked at her and shrugged. They turned back to see Raticlaw staring past them. Raticlaw’s attention was drawn to Hachiman peering through the doorway, the fighting type too high and too wide to fit through the opening he had created. The rat Pokemon cocked his head.

“Where did fatty come from?” he asked.

Jonah realized that Raticlaw must not have seen Hachiman earlier. “That’s Hachiman. He’s my Pokemon.”

Raticlaw looked incredulous. “******** he is. How did you catch him?”

Jonah fought him while you were incapacitated, Syl said, and won.

The rodent glared at her. “You’re shitting me.”

I swear upon my honor that it is nothing but the truth, she replied, and adding so that only the teenagers could hear, I won’t tell him if you won’t.

Caroline nodded. “Yup, charged him with a knife and everything.”

“It is true, sir.” Hachiman affirmed. Raticlaw gave them a look of a creature that suddenly felt like everything it had known to be true was a lie. He looked back and forth between everyone gathered around him as if trying to find inconsistency in their faces. It eventually occurred to him that he wasn’t going to find it.

“Not bad kid,” Raticlaw said to Jonah. It was the epitome of a grudging compliment, but a compliment nonetheless. Hachiman felt the urge to speak up.

“I have heard many things about you, Lord Raticlaw,” he said.

Raticlaw’s ears perked up. “Really?”

“Yes sir. I have heard about how you took on a dozen enemies at once and triumphed.”

It was just possible to see Raticlaw puff his chest out. Unfortunately Hachiman chose to continue talking.

“Lord Jonah has even said that your battle prowess is second only to your ability to toss salad, although I am not sure how food preparation is related to battling.”

Raticlaw’s stare at Jonah demanded an explanation.

“I think he misheard me,” Jonah offered lamely.

“I am quite sure I heard correctly, sir,” Hachiman said firmly.

It was at this point that Growlithe walked through the door, fresh from marking its territory. It looked at Raticlaw and gave it the closest canine equivalent to a triumphant grin.

What little respect Raticlaw had for Jonah disintegrated like a sandcastle in the path of a tidal wave.

“Wow, you’ve caught a tactless idiot and a mutt,” Raticlaw said derisively, “truly the three of you deserve each other.”

Caroline decided to step in before the flames got even hotter. “You called us here. What do you want?”

“To be honest I was thinking I would just attract you and Syl,” Raticlaw said, doing his best to ignore Jonah and his Pokemon, “doesn’t really matter, I guess.”

“So,” Caroline pressed, trying to get more out of Raticlaw than a non-answer, “is there a reason you’re sitting on top of someone in an abandoned building in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, him?” Raticlaw pointed a clawed finger down at the thug. “Found this wannabe gangster trying to shake down an old lady and decided to set him straight. Been trying to get information out of him but he’s being pretty damn stubborn.”

“Oh God, help me…”

The thug’s cry echoed through the room as a pair of claws sank into his back.

“It didn’t work the last fifteen times you ****ing said it, it won’t work the sixteenth time,” Raticlaw said to the thug with exasperation. “So, this is where you come in. Syl, you know Hypnosis?”

Yes.

Raticlaw hopped off the thug, grabbed him by his hair, and hoisted him up into an awkward kneeling position. “Make it happen.”

Syl looked to Caroline. Caroline looked to Raticlaw.

“This is illegal, isn’t it,” she asked.

“Probably,” Raticlaw replied, “Manslaughter, false imprisonment, breaking and entering, violating someone’s right to not incriminate himself…I think humans look down on that. Been out in the sticks awhile so I could be wrong though.”

Jonah walked up besides Caroline. “So what you’re saying is that you got us out of deep **** only to land us in even deeper ****,” he said.

“You could say that,” Raticlaw replied.

“Some hero you are.”

Raticlaw shrugged. “And you’d rather be Spearow food? Whatever kid. If you’re screwed at least you’re getting screwed for the right reasons.” He shook the thug’s head for emphasis. “If you’re going through Hell might as well keep going, right?”

Jonah and Caroline exchanged a look. Caroline turned to Syl.

I told you so, Syl said matter-of-factly.

“Just do it Syl,” Caroline replied curtly. Syl nodded, reappeared in front of the thug in the blink of an eye, and forced his eyes to stare into hers, the man trying to fight against her psychic grasp and failing. An eerie blue glow emanated from her eyes, and soon the thug stopped struggling.

Stand, Syl said. The thug did so. She turned to Raticlaw.

You know how Hypnosis works, yes? she asked.

“Yeah yeah. Can’t force him to do something he will never do, can’t make him jump in front of a bus, etcetera etcetera,” Raticlaw said with a wave of a clawed hand. Turning to the thug, he said, “hey you, you in a gang?”

“Yeah,” the thug replied. His tone was flat and hollow, his mental state equivalent to the lights being on but no one being home.

“How many of you?”

“Eight.”

“And what do you guys do?”

“Drug runnin’, Pokemon smugglin’, that sort of thing.”

Raticlaw’s ears perked up at the mention of Pokemon smuggling. “Really. Pokemon smuggling for who?”

“I dunno man. Some dude rolls up in a truck, we load it up, he pays us and he drives off. We don’t ask no questions.”

“And when does this happen?”

“Dunno.”

You must answer the question.

“I dunno man,” the thug said, “no schedule or nothin’, he just rolls up with only a couple day’s warnin.”

“Well, do you know if he’s coming soon then?”

“Yeah, said he’d be comin’ tonight.”

Raticlaw grinned as he turned to the trainers. Jonah caught on first.

“We are not going to bust a gang shipment,” he said sternly. “You’re out of your friggin’ mind.”

“Why not?” Raticlaw asked. “You help me and I’ll look past the nasty things you said about me and not do horrible things to you in your sleep.” The rat Pokemon watched Jonah squirm at the thought and felt a tinge of satisfaction.

“Plus,” he continued, “if you’re gonna break the law might as well do it for something that no one is going to convict you for.” Raticlaw could see that both trainers found a certain persuasive logic in what he said. He turned back to the thug.

“Where’s your hideout, homeboy?” he asked.

***************************************************************

There are certain advantages to locating your hideout in the midst of urban blight, highest among them being the ability to hide in plain sight.

Sure, it’s common sense that such areas are a breeding ground for criminal enterprise: even the police are aware of it. But while the police are ostensibly supposed to patrol said areas there are only so many petty vandalism calls one can answer before deciding that the law’s time and expenses could be better spent elsewhere. Add in the trouble of legal niceties such as “search warrants” and a well placed bribe or two and soon The Man becomes a non-issue for the criminally inclined.

The second advantage is the prevalence of abandoned warehouses. One of the unwritten rules of organized crime requires that any gang, triad or mafia worth its salt work out of at least one dilapidated, shady warehouse staffed by equally shady men who are also well armed. No one is sure why this is a requirement (especially for gangs that don’t traffic in goods requiring large amounts of long-term storage), but in a business where tradition is enforced via blunt instruments to the head tradition tends to be questioned only in the abstract.

In this particular blighted area there was a particular warehouse that was particularly uninspiring by criminal syndicate standards. It was a warehouse, granted, but it was a sad little prefabricated metal structure whose only apparent reason for still standing was because it was simply not cost efficient to tear it down. Aging paint chipped off the walls revealing slightly rusting metal beneath. If criminal warehouses were wine, this one would have been the type one buys at supermarkets: a wine regardless, but a crude and base wine meant for the hoi polloi and beneath the notice of more refined palates.

The emptiness of the streets was disturbed by a lone figure shuffling slowly towards the warehouse. His attire—torn in places and sporting bloodstains in others—suggested to the observer that he was a gang member who apparently liked pulling the tails of cats. If one were to have gotten a closer look however, they might have instead been drawn to the man’s vacant eyes, fixated as they were on something visible only to their owner. He walked with an awkward gait like his body was not entirely under his own control. After several agonizing minutes he finally reached a door set into one of the walls of the warehouse. The hand slowly grasped the handle and pulled it open. The thug walked inside.

A series of small rooms greeted him: this area had been a front office back when the warehouse had been used for legitimate enterprise and showed little sign of use beyond then, the resident gang apparently having little use for the space. The thug shuffled through until he found what he was looking for.

He opened the closet door, walked inside, and shut the door. And then he fell unconscious.

***************************************************************

The glow in Syl’s eyes faded. We’re in.

The group had chosen to stake out on the second floor of a nearby building, one that they had entered without the utilization of Hachiman’s fists per Raticlaw’s insistence. The group kept watch out of a dirty broken window waiting to see if anything went south. At the moment, it appeared that disaster was still deciding to spend its summer up north.

Raticlaw grunted in acknowledgement. “Anybody else in there?”

Not the way he went in apparently, Syl said. I can sense others inside, but it’s…fuzzy. Syl disliked using such an imprecise term, but it was the only way she knew to convey the idea to the psychically unattuned.

“Fuzzy? You found me didn’t you?” Raticlaw asked.

That’s different. You wanted me to find you and your mental pattern is…unique. Trying to count all the people in a building a quarter of a mile away is a bit harder.

“Feh. Excuses, excuses,” Raticlaw snorted. “You can teleport us in there now, right?”

Syl nodded. Yes. I have a lock on the man, so I can get us in there without risking teleporting inside a wall.

“Alright then,” Raticlaw said, “here’s the plan. Syl and I are going in, the rest of you are staying here as backup.” Jonah and Caroline both gave him a look of confused bafflement.

“You wanted us here and you’re not even going to use us?” Jonah asked.

Raticlaw sighed. “I want to look around inside first and that’ll require some subtlety. And let’s face it kid, you and that Hariyama are about as subtle as a friggin’ freight train. We’ll call when we need you.” He turned back to Syl. “Let’s go, time’s a wastin’.”

Syl looked to Caroline for her orders. If she was looking for Caroline to say “no” she wasn’t going to get it even though Caroline’s facial expression suggested that Raticlaw had asked her to personally throw her Pokemon to a pack of rabid wolves.

“Be careful in there, Syl,” Caroline said. Syl and Raticlaw vanished from sight in the time it took the psychic type to nod.

***************************************************************

Many people hold the common misconception that teleportation is one of the easiest psychic powers to master. If the lowly Abra is a master of teleportation, they argue, how hard can it truly be?

The uninformed tend to discount the complexities of teleportation, instead viewing techniques like being able to lift a truck with one’s mind as a greater challenge to the psychic mind. While lifting a truck is an impressive feat by any measure, by psychic standards such techniques are the domain of banal mental brawn, an act performable by even the least psychically attuned with enough training and raw determination. Teleporting is a different beast altogether, requiring the ability to skillfully manipulate natural laws in several dimensions at once in order to facilitate the instantaneous transfer of matter over long distances safely. This is a difficult feat for creatures used to thinking only in four dimensions and failing in this delicate balancing act brings potentially disastrous consequences for the user.

This is part of the reason why one does not meet many dumb psychics: stupidity is literally fatal.

Fortunately Syl was not one of them. Rat and psychic humanoid materialized in the closet, landing on top of the sleeping thug Syl had hypnotized earlier. He made a small grunt in his sleep as their weight came down on him but otherwise remained unconscious.

The Rattata released his tight grip on Raticlaw’s head.

“Did we really need this broad to get in?” he asked Raticlaw rhetorically. “We could have found a sewer entrance or a ventilation shaft or something.”

I can see you, you know.

The Rattata turned to look up at her, surprised to have another being acknowledge his existence. “You can see me?”

A feeling of exasperation washed over both rodents, a similar sensation that one feels trying to explain how water is wet. You are a quasi-tangible hallucination known to periodically manifest after the inhalation of Stun Spores. The temporary damage done to the central nervous system occasionally unleashes untapped psychic potential that the victim’s mind is not able to handle in its damaged state, and so the mind creates a proto-psychic projection as a metaphorical “safety valve” to help dispose of the excess psychic energy. This proto-psychic projection often takes the form of a tangible being or object that exists only to the user and those creatures capable of detecting the discharge of psychic energy.

Rodent and rodent figment stared blankly at Syl. It occurred to the psychic type that she might have gotten too technical.

Look, deliriants in the Stun Spore as well as short term neural damage have resulted in your existence in Raticlaw’s perception of reality. Therefore to psychics you also exist. Until you finally disappear, at least.

“Oh, right,” the Rattata said uncertainly. “I was just testing you, is all.”

I’m sure.

Raticlaw gave her a wry smile. “Is this…personal experience talking?” he asked. He had learned long ago that when humans spoke of “frenching the Bellsprout” they were not referring to an act of zoophilia.

Syl gave him a dirty look. I lived on a Pokemon ranch. You’d be surprised at how many Pokemon simply must poke the Shroomish to see what happens.

The Rattata shuffled nervously on Raticlaw’s head, having finally grasped the ramifications of the Gardevoir’s words. “So…uh…how much time do I have left?”

Syl picked him up effortlessly and gave him a once over. I can feel the discharge of psychic energy emanating from you beginning to slow. A few hours at most, perhaps. The Rattata looked crestfallen, apparently never having contemplated death in his scant hours of corporeal existence. Suddenly he perked up, a look of determination on his face.

“I don’t want to die trapped in the closet,” he said, “are we going to do this or what?”

Raticlaw nodded. “Yeah, let’s do it. Syl, how many people are in here?”

Syl closed her eyes as she began to concentrate. Her eyes shot open in surprise, and she told Raticlaw the how many she had detected.

“That few?” he asked incredulously. “Where the Hell are the rest of them?”

***************************************************************

“Someone’s coming,” Jonah hissed.

Caroline looked up, hand paused in midstroke down Growlithe’s back. The canine Pokemon had curled up into a ball and gone to sleep, apparently disinterested in the tedious boredom of the stakeout and how—contrary to his expectations—no steaks were involved. Jonah quickly cut off her reply with an index finger pressed against his lips, and he gestured for her to come over to him and take a look. She crept up quietly to the window Jonah was kneeling under and took a look. A trio of shady-looking men were walking towards the warehouse in a nonchalant manner that suggested anything but. They chatted easily among themselves as they passed under Jonah and Caroline’s two-story perch.

“This is ******** man,” one complained bitterly. “We don’t need eight people to load Pokeballs onto no damn truck.”

“Shut up,” one said, “you know we have to be there to make sure he don’t try to stiff us.”

“Plus make sure the pigs don’t get in the way,” the third added.

“That’s what we pay the pigs off for,” the first one replied.

“Whatever *****, we still get paid so just—“

“Woof!”

Jonah felt his heart stop. He slowly turned around and looked in horror as Growlithe barked in his sleep, the puppy Pokemon’s limbs twitching as a tableau of adventure played out inside the recesses of his mind. The thugs’ conversation had ground to a sudden halt, their attention drawn to the noise above them. Jonah and Caroline were so tense you could have bounced a coin off of either.

After what seemed like several forevers, one thug finally said, “just a stray mutt.”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, you know he’ll be ****** if we’re late,” the third said.

Jonah and Caroline visibly relaxed at the sound of retreating footsteps.

And that’s when the Weavile came bursting through the window.

***************************************************************

Raticlaw and Syl crept carefully through the mess of hastily stacked crates and assorted packaging materials. In contrast to the outside the storage space inside the warehouse was in fair condition, or at least as well maintained and organized as one could expect from a small criminal enterprise. As far as Syl could tell all the other gang members were in another part of the building, but the pair was taking no chances, stepping as quietly as they could and triple-checking for guards before passing through the open. For the moment though it seemed no one was coming, and Raticlaw had chosen to indulge his curiosity and rifle through whatever he could open with his claws as Syl kept watch.

Stolen car parts, some drugs… Raticlaw thought as he picked his way through the various crates, looks like these guys have a sweet gig as the middlemen of crime.

Syl read his surface thoughts and sent a sensation of agreement back to him. But where are the Pokemon?

Dunno… Raticlaw began, wait, someone’s coming.

The pair hunkered down in the corner behind a splintering stack of pallets as four thugs came walking through the doorway separating the storage area from another. They seemed uninterested in this particular area, however, and continued for the doorway to yet another walled off section of the warehouse. They kept walking through the various subcompartments of the warehouse, finally stopping at one in particular. It was another area filled with yet even more boxes and crates, distinguished only from the other sections by the presence of a loading dock. One thug went over to a nearby hand crank and looked to the others. One nodded, and the thug quickly began to turn the crank, the loading dock’s door rolling amid creaking protest.

The sight of the back of a Rhyder truck greeted the thugs, advertising the amazing hauling capacities and discount rates to a group so accustomed to seeing the text that they could likely recite the entire sales pitch by heart. The smell of burning diesel and the hum of the idling engine began to fill the warehouse as the truck’s driver hopped out of the cab.

He walked up to the gang, his posture conveying fearlessness acquired through familiarity with his associates. The driver—a grimy, rough-cut fellow who looked like he would rather drive than sleep—looked around the loading area and stuck an accusing finger at one of the thugs--presumably the leader of the gang--apparently displeased by the surroundings.

“How many times am I going to have to come before you have the goods ready to be loaded?” he asked in exasperation. “Time ain’t free.”

The leader looked unmoved. “Your stuff is…worth a lot. We don’t get it out of storage until we have a damn good reason to do so.”

“And that’s why you store them on the opposite side of the building from the loading dock,” the driver said in disdain.

The leader glowered back. “You want our **** or not?”

“Yeah yeah, I have the money,” the driver replied, gesturing to the truck. “Hurry up and go get the goods.”

The leader gestured to two others in the group. The two nodded and began to walk back the way they had came. Unseen to the five men, a small red bat-winged Rattata was running ahead of the pair as fast as its tiny legs could take it.

***************************************************************

The Weavile swung a wicked clawed hand at Caroline. It missed only narrowly, claws slicing through one of the straps holding up her overalls like a hot knife through butter. It moved to press its advantage against the prone girl, but a sudden burst of flame forced it to leap back. It turned to the offender, claws bared for battle. Growlithe barked, moved by ancient instinct to protect his new companions and unafraid of the dark type Pokemon. The two leapt at each other, each giving its respective battle cry.

Jonah ran to Caroline, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet, relieved to find her more surprised than hurt. He turned back and began to bark orders to Growlithe, but it was quickly becoming apparent that even with the type advantage the puppy Pokemon was terribly outclassed, the former stray no match for a gang Pokemon encouraged to kill without hesitation or remorse. Weavile seemed to realize this and was easily dancing around Growlithe’s attacks, landing superficial cuts and enjoying Growlithe’s howls of pain: it was toying with its victim before delivering the final blow.

Jonah’s mind raced, well aware that their lives were on borrowed time. Syl would doubtless know her trainer was in trouble, but there was no guarantee she would be able to arrive in time or even do anything against the dark type Weavile. Conventional wisdom said that Hachiman would have no trouble against it, but Jonah had left the fighting type in his Pokeball upon entering and his gut told him the building was far too confined for the Hariyama to have any hope of putting up a fight against a smaller, more agile opponent. That, as far as Jonah could tell, left one option.

It wasn’t a very good option. But it was better than no options.

“Caroline, come on!” Jonah yelled, gesturing wildly to the doorway and grabbing a Pokeball from his belt, “Growlithe, return!”

A beam of red light shot out from the Pokeball and contacted Growlithe just as Weavile’s claws were poised for a violent Slash. The attack passed harmlessly through Growlithe as the fire type coalesced into an unidentifiable reddish glob of energy that was sucked back into the Pokeball before the dark type could react. Caught by surprise for only a moment, Weavile turned to the trainers running into the hallway and screeched horribly, furious that its moment of triumph had been stolen from it. It charged them at a blinding speed, claws gleaming with ill intent in the moonlight. Its targets stood in the doorway, watching its advance with a mixture of fascination and horror. It leapt.

Jonah slammed the door shut as hard as he could.

The door gave off a cracking sound as well as a violent shudder as the Weavile went from 40 to zero in half an inch and a tenth of a second. There was a sound of dazed anger, soon followed by the ugly sound of claws carving into wood.

“Growlithe, Flamethrower on the door!” Jonah screamed. A Pokeball at his belt erupted with red light as Growlithe returned to a more tangible form. A burst of flame emerged from Growlithe’s mouth and hit the door, setting it alight and causing a horrific scream to rattle out from behind it.

Jonah turned back to Caroline. “That’s not going to hold for long! Let’s go!”

***************************************************************

The thug watched his partner struggle with the padlock on the door. “Come on man, hurry up.”

The other thug continued to concentrate on the lock, wiggling the key in frustration. “Not my fault this lock is a piece of ****. How come we don’t buy a new one yet?”

“Don’t matter, it’s still our asses if you don’t hurry.”

“So this is where you fine gentlemen keep the Pokemon, huh?”

“Yea—wait, what?”

An invisible force brought the two thugs’ heads together at high speed, causing the pair to crumple in a heap on the floor. Raticlaw stepped over them and walked over to the door. After a moment’s reflection he turned the key, causing the padlock to snap open.

“Dumbass didn’t stick the key all the way in,” he grunted as he heard Syl approaching from behind. Raticlaw grasped the door handle and swung it open, revealing a dark room with a musty smell on the other side. The rat Pokemon grabbed a flashlight that had been sitting by the doorway and waved it at Syl to get her attention. He felt a tug as the flashlight struggled to float out of his hand and let it go, watching as it ascended into the air as if possessed of a will of its own. Light came pouring out of it with an invisible flick of the switch, and soon after the flashlight was heading into the darkness like a spelunker into a cave. The pair followed closely behind.

In better days this had been a breaker room, the electrical panels still bolted to the wall and awaiting a time when power could be supplied to the building without the utility company getting too nosy for their own good. In lieu of its intended use a series of hastily constructed racks had been thrown inside, turning the room into little more than an excessively wired closet. Syl willed the flashlight to sweep slowly through the room. The racks were covered in trays filled with Pokeballs, each ball held shut with a strange looking clamp.

I don’t understand, Syl said, why all this trouble when you can just send them via computer?

“Security on the online system is too tight,” Raticlaw replied, “might as well try to fart in a church.”

Are you saying it’s unbreakable?

“No, but truck drivers are a lot cheaper than wunderkind hackers.”

Syl gave him a critical look. You seem to be… knowledgeable about many things.

“I’ve been around,” Raticlaw said simply. He grabbed a Pokeball off one of the racks and easily tore off the clamp, the device clearly meant to keep the Pokemon inside from coming out rather than preventing those on the outside from opening the Pokeball. He walked out of the breaker room and back into the storage area of the warehouse. “Let’s see what we got here.”

I don’t think this is a good ide— Syl began.

Syl’s protest was interrupted by the Pokeball meeting the pavement, releasing its contents with a flash of light. Its occupant—not yet fully coalesced—made a beeline charge at Syl, a distinct keening sound following in its wake. Syl’s sixth sense began to raise a commotion in her mind, telling her to get away, but the opponent was too fast, too close…

A green arm--its edge both humming with psychic energy and dangerously sharp--stopped a hair’s breadth away from Syl’s throat. The reddish haze surrounding her would-be attacker dispersed, revealing a surprised-looking Gallade.

You… the Gallade said, his arm not wavering from its position out of bafflement rather than malice, are not that hombre humano.

Syl glanced over at Raticlaw.

“I think he said that you’re not human. Or a guy,” Raticlaw replied, his grip on other human languages being piecemeal at best.

Clearly not, Syl replied. The Gallade lowered his arm. Another sharp sound preceded a dying hum as the psychic type’s limb warped and contorted, the edge of his arm growing duller as the tail end of the blade receded into his elbow. He stepped back and gave her a courteous bow.

My apologies, senorita, the Gallade said, in my haste I mistook you for the one who captured me. He grasped her hand in his and lifted it up to his face and planted a soft kiss on it before she could protest.

Raticlaw couldn’t help but chuckle at the display. “You’re old school, aren’t you?”

The Gallade turned to Raticlaw. There is no shame in chivalry, senor. He was confused by Raticlaw’s expression changing from amusement to concern, until he looked back at Syl. The Gardevoir wore a look of sudden panic.

“Syl, go!” Raticlaw said, discerning what had caused her sudden shift. Syl began to protest, but Raticlaw’s intense glare and her natural inclinations quickly won out and she vanished from existence with nary a word.

The sound of a thug yelling for his companions suddenly echoed throughout the warehouse. Raticlaw turned and dashed back towards the breaker room.

“Hey you!” he called to the Gallade, throwing any remaining pretense of stealth that remained out the window, “give me a hand in here!”

Forgive me, but what is going on? the Gallade asked.

“Live through this and I’ll tell you later,” Raticlaw said, as he grabbed as many Pokeballs as he could.

Senor, some los hermanos are approaching. And what about that odd Rattata on your—

“Later!”
 

Chozo

My Serebii face
Chapter 4 part 2

Jonah’s bruised ribs wanted him to slow down. Adrenaline wanted him to go faster. Being in between the two was an uncomfortable experience. There was no sound of pursuit, which would have been comforting to the trainers had Weavile not been described in ancient myths as a silent herald of death.

The group reached the stairs and began running down as fast as they could. Jonah let Caroline take the lead and began to follow her down the stairs when he heard whimpering coming from behind him, causing him to stop. Jonah turned to see Growlithe looking at him pitifully. The fire type barked something.

“What do you mean, you can’t go down stairs!?” Caroline yelled back, not even bothering to turn around as she took the steps two at a time. It had only distracted her for a moment, but it was enough: she lost her footing and tumbled to the floor below, yelping as a good portion of her weight was brought down on her elbows. Jonah watched as a black shadow passed through where Caroline’s head would have been had she kept her balance and heard the Weavile hiss in frustration. The dark type landed and skittered to a stop, preparing for another pass against the female trainer.

“Fire Spin!”

Weavile turned just in time to see Jonah jump down the stairwell head held low as a torrent of flame erupted from Growlithe’s mouth. Unprepared for its ambush to have failed the Weavile was caught flat-footed and soon found itself sucked into in the twisting spiral of flames, the dark type screaming bloody murder the whole time. Jonah paid the spectacle no mind as the small flaming tornado continued to snake awkwardly down a nearby hallway, scorching what little paint remained on the walls: he didn’t know how long it would last, if it would hold, or even if it would deter Weavile much at all. With a door to the outside promising freedom mere feet away he only hoped that the Fire Spin would last long enough.

Something came tumbling down the stairs with several loud thumps. Jonah turned back to see Growlithe lying on its back, nose bleeding from where muzzle had met step and feet splayed in the air like a dead cockroach. The fire type gave him a sheepish grin. He felt a sudden tugging at his sleeve and turned to see Caroline trying to pull him towards the exit, desperation apparent all over her face. Jonah barely had the time to recall Growlithe once again as the pair burst through the door to freedom.

Or so they thought.

Three thugs, the business ends of three handguns, a Cacturne and a Houndour greeted them on the other side.

Jonah and Caroline did the only thing they could think of, raising their hands in the air.

“Looks like we found some rats,” one of the thugs said. He gave them an ugly grin, gold-capped teeth gleaming in the moonlight. He glanced past them, adding, “good job, Killer.”

The trainers hazarded a glance behind them. The Weavile staggered through the doorway behind them, giving the trainers a wicked grin despite smelling like charcoal and looking like it had gotten its fur trimmed by a half-blind Scizor. It clicked its claws together ominously and hissed at them with a grin that suggested it was not opposed to personally delivering some payback.

It was at this point that Jonah’s brain decided to kick in.

Well let’s see what you’re in this time, it told him. Hachiman probably could take on these dark types if you could get him out of his Pokeball…too bad you’ll get shot dead before he even emerges if you try. You could try running, and you might even make it a few yards before you die horribly. In my professional opinion, you are totally screwed. Glad I’m not you.

Jonah felt something click inside his head.

Wait, ****.

He risked a glance at Caroline. She glanced back at him, expression having gone from panicked to eerily calm.

The thugs had noticed the change as well, and they looked to each other in confusion, not sure what the sudden smile on Caroline’s face portended. Gold teeth--apparently the leader of the motley group—waved his pistol at her.

“You gonna die,” he said, although his voice suggested his confidence in this outcome was beginning to waver, “what you so happy about?”

His answer was the rending protest of metal piercing the night sky. The thugs looked upward towards the source of the noise, where the sight of what had formerly been a rooftop air conditioning unit falling towards the earth at roughly 32 feet per second greeted them. The thugs scattered as it slammed into the ground, a sickening cacophony of metal tearing punctuated by flying shrapnel in all directions. Jonah watched as a panel cover was blown off the wreckage from the impact and spiraled through the air, jagged edges causing an odd whistling sound as it bore down on him. Time seemed to slow down for Jonah, as if he was suddenly deep in a vat of molasses and his only option was to watch his own doom come and claim him. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them he was standing on a rooftop with Caroline and a twisted metal bracket that had once held an air conditioning unit. Syl stood in front of them, a small smile creeping across her face.

You have no faith in me, she said, although it wasn’t readily apparent if she was speaking to one of them in particular. Come on, we can get away while they’re rattled.

The two trainers crept over to the edge of the rooftop and risked a look over. The A/C unit was lying in a junked heap in the middle of the street as the thugs and their Pokemon picked themselves up off the ground, too shell-shocked by its unexpected appearance to do little more than gape at the wreckage. The Weavile was lying on the ground with the panel cover embedded in its torso, its pitiful whimpers rising to meet them. The trainers couldn’t help but wince in sympathy, even if the dark type had been trying to kill them moments before.

They could feel a sense of impatience rising from Syl. This is no time to be gawking. We need to leave now.

Jonah looked over the thugs. They were dazed, they were confused, they were off balance and possessed of the realization that they may have gotten in over their heads. They were just like Jonah and Caroline, but with one element missing.

“We’re not running,” Jonah said firmly.

Caroline and Syl exchanged glances.

“What?” Caroline asked. She watched as his face began to carry the same expression that he had worn moments before he had charged Hachiman with little more than an improvised spear and enough gumption to equip an infantry regiment.

Jonah stared back at them, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. With the desire for flight gone, he was clearly spoiling for a fight. “I’m sick of being hunted and I’m sick of being shot at. It’s time for payback.”

Caroline wanted to object, but the look in Jonah’s eyes awakened her own primal desire for vengeance that she hadn’t even realized existed. She nodded at Jonah.

“Let’s do it.”

***************************************************************

“It takes you guys this long to get some Pokeballs out of a closet? No wonder you idiots are small time.”

The gang leader bristled at the insinuation as the driver continued to rake the gang over the coals regarding the myriad flaws in their inventory organization. He was used to getting respect and the driver’s disregard for his authority had always rankled him, but the man paid too well to send him floating downriver with a bullet in his head.

But tonight? It was so tempting. Between this and half his gang being AWOL for no apparent reason, he would have described the idea of capping the driver as cathartic if he had actually known what “catharsis” meant. Too bad he had left his last lackey watching the truck: they could have roughed the driver up a bit here and now to teach the man some respect.

Well, that was still in the cards, the leader thought to himself with some hope. Just had to remember to get the pay beforehand and to make sure the driver could still use the pedals. He let the happy thoughts drown out the driver’s almost endless tirade.

Suddenly the driver stopped. If the leader had been paying attention, he would have realized that the man had stopped mid-sentence and might have caught on sooner. As it was it took a sharp elbow to the chest to break him out of his daydream.

The first thought that went through the leader’s mind was how the driver had just dug his own grave. He grabbed the driver by the collar and gave him a foul look, and noted with some satisfaction that the he was as white as a sheet. He gave the driver an evil grin, thinking the source of the man’s terror the realization that he had breeched street protocol. He reached for the pistol in his waistband and stuck it under the driver’s chin.

“Any last words?” he asked, the cocking of the gun ringing ominously through the warehouse.

“…look…” the driver said weakly, pointing over the leader’s shoulder. The leader frowned and looked back obligingly. The color drained from his face.

While a little moonlight shone through the windows on top of the roof it was very dark inside the warehouse, the kind of darkness where you can see well enough to get around but poorly enough where the signs of movement cause your animal instincts to scream at you as if you’re walking around in a suit made of ribeye steaks in front of a pack of hungry Mightyena. Low rumbling growls punctuated the twisting of shadows and the unnatural shifting of silhouettes among the boxes.

Much like the light in the warehouse, the human mind is often too good at the same time that it’s too poor: too poor in the sense that it’s ultimately not very good at saving humans from being stalked and eaten by very large and hungry creatures but too good at giving the imagination liberty to fill in the blanks.

The growling surrounded the pair now. Was it the echoes or were they really surrounded? Both men were too paralyzed by fear to try and find out.

The moving shapes came closer, and eventually the pair were able to make out a collection of Pokemon in all sizes, breeds and colors. And although each species of Pokemon has its own unique body language and methods of communication all the Pokemon present had adopted the universal posture for “I’m going to rip you limb from limb.” The leader had the presence of mind to move his gun from underneath the driver’s chin and to sweep it back and forth between the Pokemon surrounding them, the barrel eventually ending its journey pointed at a Rhydon. The rock type ignored it.

The leader gave off a very unmanly squeak. As if on cue an odd-looking Rattata with bat wings appeared from underneath a very irate Dodrio. He walked towards them on his rear legs, a pad and pencil held in his forelimbs.

“…what the?” the leader began to ask, staring at the Rattata as if doing so would somehow deter the other event about to happen from following its natural course.

The Rattata shrugged at him. “The mind sees stuff really good in the moments before death, or something. I think it’s called ‘Claricety’.”

The hiss of a Sceptile emanated from somewhere in the darkness.

“Oh yeah, I have to ask you guys something,” the Rattata said, “what are you going to do before you die?”

The Pokemon began to close in on the men. The Rattata watched them carefully before looking down to jot notes.

“Wet yourselves. Interesting,” he said, chewing on the eraser of his pencil.

***************************************************************

The thugs gazed at the ruined metal hulk with what could only be described as baffled wonderment. Gold teeth—apparently leader by virtue of being slightly quicker on the draw than his compatriots—managed to tear his gaze away long enough to see his Weavile bleeding out on the sidewalk. More importantly, the trainers were gone.

Gold teeth uttered a stream of curses. It wasn’t for what had happened to his Weavile: to a gangster Pokemon are weapons and a way to maintain a masculine image rather than companions, and in a gang that trafficked Pokemon it was not like getting another would be a problem.

No, the little *******s had gotten away. Who knew what they were up to, but they would need to be waxed just in case.

“Looking for us?” a voice called out.

The gangster turned to see who had uttered one of the most cliché, overused phrases in action sequences everywhere. The two kids had reappeared, but what Gold teeth found most disconcerting was that they had decided to bring friends, one of whom was very big.

“Move it!” he yelled to the other two thugs. The men were already scrambling for the handguns they had dropped in their haste to avoid being crushed to death, barking orders at their Pokemon all the while. Both the Cacturne and Houndour looked upon Hachiman with severe trepidation, but a warning shot in the air convinced them that they would rather face the fighting type than their masters.

Human, Gardevoir and Hariyama watched the fighting types approach as the thugs followed behind, the latter bringing their guns to bear.

“Your orders sir?” Hachiman asked Jonah, his voice tinged with anticipation of the battle to come.

“Go for the Pokemon,” Jonah said in a tone that suggested Hachiman’s enthusiasm for battle might be infectious, “and smash ‘em.”

“Keep the dark types off of us and we’ll take care of the thugs,” Caroline said. “Syl, let’s go!”

“Hachiman, showtime!”

Hachiman bellowed and charged, the Hariyama advancing upon the thugs like an unstoppable force of nature given flesh. Popping sounds filled the air as the thugs opened fire in the hopes of stopping the Hariyama in its tracks, but they could do little but watch as something around Hachiman shimmered and the bullets seemed to freeze in midair, stymied by some unseen barrier. Hachiman plowed through the small cloud of bullets unharmed, sending them scattering as if they were little more than dandelion seeds on the wind. The dark types grimaced and held their ground, knowing that it was their unpleasant duty to break the fighting type’s charge so that their masters could reload and counterattack.

The sound of one of the thugs screaming in pain caused them to look back for a moment, where they saw a Gardevoir in the middle of the trio unleashing psychic vengeance. One thug went flying in the air before being bodily slammed into a nearby wall, followed soon by another. The two dark types found themselves frozen by indecision, unsure whether or not to engage this new threat.

They had only been distracted for a moment, but it was all that Hachiman needed. Cacturne turned just in time to see Hachiman bring one of his massive fists down on the dark type’s head: the blow knocked the Cacturne to the ground, crumpling it like a rag doll. Houndour turned at the sound of its fellow Pokemon wheezing weakly and found itself suddenly very alone against an opponent who outweighed it nearly 25 times over.

Houndour and its evolution are renown for their fearless tenacity, but it’s the type of bravery possessed by pack hunters who typically outnumber their prey ten to one. It growled uncertainly as Hachiman loomed over it. The fighting type began to speak.

“Your friend was weak,” Hachiman said in a voice that was level but tinged with the promise of violence to come. “Hopefully you are stronger.”

The Houndour shot a quick glance at its fallen comrade and then looked to its master, the thug leaning against the building he had been tossed into moments earlier in obvious pain. It decided that discretion was the better part of valor and gave a weak warning bark as it opened its mouth, a sickly Smog cloud quickly spreading and surrounding the area between the two in a purple haze. Hachiman hacked and wheezed as the stinging gas filled his eyes and lungs.

Gold teeth had managed to reload his weapon. He snuck up behind Syl, pistol leveled. He pulled the trigger.

A shimmering wall of light appeared behind Syl, causing the bullet to deflect with a loud ping. Syl turned around and stared at Gold teeth, and he stepped back in absentminded fear. It didn’t matter that he was two heads taller than the Gardevoir and nearly twice her weight: the way she was staring at him he felt like he was barely one inch tall.

He felt an invisible force pluck the gun out of his hand and toss it away. Syl advanced upon him slowly and deliberately, and he did the only thing he could think of.

He ran towards the warehouse like a bat out of Hell.

The two other thugs saw him running and--seeing the condition of their own Pokemon--decided to join him.

A loud clapping sound emanated from the smog, followed by a strong gust of wind that dispersed the poisonous cloud. As it cleared Hachiman could be seen with his hands pressed together in front of him, eyes red and irritated. He did his best to ignore them as he looked for the Houndour, but found no sign of the dark type: it had used the Smog to buy itself time to escape.

“Coward!” Hachiman spat the word as if it were an epithet. Though his vision was clouded and fuzzy due to the Smog, he caught sight of the fleeing thugs in the corner of his eyes and moved to follow. “Honorless dogs, every one of you!”

Hachiman suddenly felt a tugging sensation holding him back. He looked to Syl, his face suggesting incomprehension.

“You would allow them to get away, my lady?” he asked in shock.

Jonah and Caroline ran up to meet up with their own Pokemon. “Syl, what’s wrong?” Caroline asked, half out of breath.

Syl gave them all an odd smile, clearly aware of something that they weren’t. They’ll get what’s coming to them. You’ll see.

***************************************************************

Gold teeth slammed the door behind him, bolting it shut with as many locks on the door as he could handle with his trembling hands. He could hear his companions behind him panting heavily for breath, each as winded as he was.

“What…the…Hell…man?” one thug asked between gasps for air.

Gold teeth didn’t know how it could have possibly gone wrong. They had flushed the kids out with Killer and should have had them dead to rights. The night should have ended with them a couple Pokemon richer and with a couple of bodies thrown in a ditch somewhere.

It had been that damn Gardevoir! Gold teeth cursed at how she had mocked him as she had deflected his bullets and disarmed him with ease. That smile…that smile! It was the grin of someone who knew that she had been perfectly capable of ending his life but had instead chosen to spare him, secure in the knowledge that he would live the rest of his days in shame.

She was gonna pay, he decided. All he had to do was grab a few Pokemon from the stash and hunt her and her trainer down. He’d see if she was smiling then.

The sound of wet meat hitting concrete broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a Scyther standing over the bodies of his former comrades, arm scythes slick with a reddish tint. The bug Pokemon cried out and raised its arm scythes high, the moonlight glinting off the few areas on the blade that were still clean.

Gold teeth never had the chance to scream.

***************************************************************

The trainers watched from a distance as groups of Pokemon streamed out of the warehouse. While a few of the Pokemon made a break for the first patch of “wild” space they could see many lingered around the structure, predator and prey alike united in their common uncertainty in what to do next.

Jonah whistled at the sight. “Damn. Looks like Raticlaw came through…don’t tell him I said that.”

Caroline nodded, and looked to Syl. “Any sign of him?”

Syl shook her head. No, but I think he can take care of himself.

Caroline was about to reply when she was interrupted by the sound of a large amount of air passing through Hachiman’s nostrils.

“Is something burning?” the fighting type asked.

The trainers closed their eyes, sniffing the air and catching the whiff of burning wood and paint. Their eyes shot open in realization, and they looked at each other.

“Crap!”

Smoke and small licks of flame poured out the windows of the building the group had been hiding in a short time before. They could do little but watch as remnants of the Smog cloud floated towards the open flames.

Caroline’s mind reminded her that a Pokemon’s Smog was flammable.

“Get down!” she screamed, throwing herself to the ground. Hachiman watched as Jonah and Syl dived for the ground almost in sync as a shimmering barrier formed over the humans and Gardevoir.

A small flicker of flame contacted the Smog cloud.

The resulting explosion drowned out all other sound, the shockwaves knocking Hachiman clear off his feet and onto his back with a heavy thump. A pillar of flame streaked up into the night sky as the building’s flames began burn even hotter.

Jonah turned back to Hachiman. “You okay?” he asked, yelling to be heard over the sound of his own ears ringing.

Hachiman groaned as he sat up, rubbing his head. Amazingly, he did not appear to be badly hurt. “I have been better, sir.”

The ringing in everyone’s ears was soon replaced by the blaring of sirens. Jonah and Caroline exchanged glances.

“Uh…I don’t think we want to be here when they arrive,” Caroline said.

“I agree,” Jonah replied.

***************************************************************

The Rattata sat on the edge of the rooftop, attempting to draw a sketch of the morning horizon as the sun slowly climbed over the surrounding mountains. What was actually going down on the page might politely be described as a drawing of a bald man buried up to his eyeballs in dirty laundry.

He didn’t even turn at the sound of something climbing up the wall and tossing itself onto the rooftop. “Tampering with evidence is a crime too, you know.”

Raticlaw stared at the figment of his imagination and grunted. “You know all the **** I’ve done in my life. What’s one more crime in the grand scheme of things?”

“Eh, fair enough.” The Rattata went back to his doodle, but Raticlaw could see a lack of enthusiasm in his scribbling.

“It’s almost time,” the Rattata said sadly.

Raticlaw nodded. “Looks like it.” Already the Rattata seemed to becoming more and more transparent, less…real. One part of Raticlaw’s mind called him crazy for ever considering the little runt to be as real as the back of his hands. Another part of his mind reminded the first part that the Sanity train hadn’t been making stops at Raticlaw’s metaphorical station for a long time now. Raticlaw did his best to ignore both parts.

“I wonder what it’s like to…disappear,” Rattata said.

“I’d tell you if I knew,” Raticlaw replied, “but I’m pretty bad at dying so I’m probably not the one to ask.”

“It’s not like death,” Rattata said, “at least, I don’t think it’s like death. I’ve always been in you, but I don’t remember being…uh…”

“Aware?”

“Yeah, that. Will I go back to you when I disappear, and what will happen then? What if I come back someday? Will I remember this, and will I remember it because it’s the me me being brought back or another me who has the memories of me but isn’t me and—“

The Rattata’s musings were cut short as Raticlaw picked him up by the wings. Raticlaw held the figment to his face and looked directly into its eyes.

“Kind of dumb to be spending your last hours worrying over something you can’t do anything about,” Raticlaw said.

The Rattata looked surprised, then thoughtful, then sheepish. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“There must be something you want to do before you…uh…go,” Raticlaw added. Rattata thought on this.

“Well, there is this one thing…” Rattata said.

***************************************************************

“Syl! Syl!”

The rooms in the Pokemon center were extravagant by Spartan standards but spartan by anyone else’s: little more than two bunk beds and a small desk shoved in a corner with the walls coated in a nauseating yellow coat of paint. Jonah and Caroline occupied the bunk on one side of the room, both trainers deeply asleep on mattresses that—while made in China by the lowest bidder--were far more comfortable than sleeping bags after a long night working as vigilante crimefighters. Growlithe shared the bottom bunk with Jonah, the puppy Pokemon snuggling closer to its new master for warmth. Syl had chosen the bottom bunk on the other set of beds, but with the annoying voice bringing her out of a sound, dreamless sleep she was groggily beginning to wish she had taken the top bunk instead.

She rolled on to her side, putting her back between herself and the source of the sound. It’s too early dad. Show me what you can do with your stomach later…

The Rattata sighed. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but she wouldn’t wake up and he had no time to waste. He scampered over the top of her and stopped in front of one of her hands. He bared his incisors and bit down.

Ow! Syl said, awoken with a start. Her eyes glowed, ready to deliver punishment to her attacker until she saw that her attacker happened to be less than one foot long.

Oh, it’s you, Syl said with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

“You’re not exactly a morning glory yourself, sister,” Rattata snapped back. If bedhead was a disease Syl’s case could have been considered cancerous, and the Gardevoir watched him through lazily half-open eyes. Ancient artists had been known to praise the Gardevoir for their alien beauty: clearly none of them had met one that was like Syl in the morning.

“Listen, I need your help,” he said.

Syl laid back down and closed her eyes. Why should I help you?

A moment’s silence, then a tentative, “well…I did help you out.”

You sat on Raticlaw’s head and made snarky remarks, she said, trying to go back to sleep. She felt something climbing all over her face and opened her eyes to find the Rattata standing on the ridge of her face separating them, giving her a pitiful look.

“You wouldn’t deny a dying Pokemon his last wish, would you?” he asked in a sad voice. “You’re the only one who can do this for me. Please?”

Syl realized that she could see the bedframe above her through the figment’s pleading eyes, and she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sympathy for the creature’s plight. She gently picked the Rattata off her face with both hands and sat up, gently cradling him in her arms like a newborn.

What can I do? she asked him.

He told her.

She threw him at the opposite wall as hard as her psychic powers would allow, where he bounced off with nary a sound and landed on top of Growlithe. The puppy Pokemon whimpered in his sleep but made no other movements. Syl gave a “humph,” throwing the covers back over herself as she rolled over to face the wall nearest her.

The sound of the Rattata’s fading voice was like the passing of the wind.

“So that means you won’t rub me between your buttcheeks?”

***************************************************************

Whenever there is a television in a public area, one can be guaranteed of the existence of two universal truths:

1. It will be on regardless of whether or not anyone is actually watching it, and even if no one is there to watch it at all.

2. It will always be tuned to a news channel. The only exception to this rule is if the television has been placed in a gym or other workout area, where it will be tuned to a cooking channel instead.

As the only trainers from out of town Jonah, Caroline and Syl had free reign of the common room. The trio had taken over a well-worn couch that sat across from a television older than the two trainers were, human and Pokemon alike balancing Styrofoam plates of toast on their laps.

(While it should be noted that most Pokemon Centers do not offer food, many offer continental breakfast. Since “continental breakfast” is hotel-speak for “toast and jam for an additional twenty dollars a night” and has about as much in common with real breakfasts as a Weedle has in common with a Salamence no one sees any inherent contradiction).

The television’s tinny speakers blared with the opening theme of the local news station. The image of a woman both middle aged and overly made up filled the screen.

“Today’s top story: the Eight Disciples are no more,” the woman began. The group perked up with nervous interest.

“Eight members of the local gang were found dead in their hideout, killed when the Pokemon they were smuggling somehow managed to get loose. One member of the gang with no memory of the events was found locked in a closet in the gang’s warehouse and was taken into custody. Authorities say there is no evidence of a third party’s involvement and are currently treating last night’s events as an act of God.”

There was a palatable sense of relief in the room.

“Authorities have now turned their efforts towards retrieving all the Pokemon who fled the scene, one which appears to have accidentally set fire to a nearby building that took local firefighters several hours to put out. No one was injured in the blaze, but the police are urging anyone who finds a stray Pokemon to call animal control immediately. In other news…”

Jonah could be heard exhaling sharply.

“Let’s not do that again,” Caroline said.

“Yeah,” Jonah replied.

With our current run of luck? Wishful thinking, Syl replied.

“Then let’s hope we continue to be as lucky as we are unlucky,” Jonah said.

The group’s conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone opening the door. They turned to see the nurse smiling at them apologetically.

“I’m sorry dears,” she said, “I’ve been so busy with all the Pokemon they brought in last night that I haven’t had time to complete your applications.”

“It’s okay,” Caroline replied.

“I’ve got the Chansey working on the laundry, so I’ve got some time now,” the nurse said. She turned to Jonah. “Your sheets were filthy dear. Do you know that your Growlithe isn’t paper trained?”

Jonah grimaced: he had been in those sheets at the time and had gotten a front row seat. “Yeah.”

“Well, something to teach him then. Come along you two: let’s get those applications done.”

***************************************************************

The nurse smiled as she handed the PDA-sized devices to the trainers. “All done. You’re both officially members of the NPL.”

Jonah looked at the logo emblazoned on the front cover, unwilling to accept but faced with the unshakable reality that someone had seen that most obvious joke that could be made and yet had decided to go for it anyway. “Pokemon Digital Assistant?”

“Is there a problem?” the nurse asked. Jonah stared at her genuinely curious face.

“No, I guess not,” he said, and joined Caroline in flipping open the device for a closer look.

“It serves as your ID, maps, GPS, information guide to Pokemon…” the nurse said, ticking the features off on her fingers before adding, “…I wish I’d had something like this when I’d been a trainer.” She got a wistful look in her eye that Jonah realized he knew all to well.

“Thank you,” Jonah said hurriedly, hoping to put a stop to her daydreams before they went to their conclusion. “What do we owe you?”

The nurse’s mind snapped back to reality. “How much? Oh no no no, it’s free of charge courtesy of the league,” she replied.

“Well, if we’re done I guess we should be going,” Caroline said, extending her hand to the nurse. “Thank you ma’am.”

The nurse took it and shook it warmly. “It was no trouble at all, dear. Don’t be strangers, you hear?”

“We won’t,” Caroline said.

“The next time you come back we can trade stories!” the nurse said as they walked out the front doors. Caroline watched as Jonah’s face scrunched up.

“What’s wrong with you?” Caroline asked.

***************************************************************

“Where to?”

Caroline poked at her PDA, seemingly unhappy with the results she was getting. The rest of the group loomed over her, and although she preferred to not have the pressure she at least appreciated Hachiman’s shadow shielding the screen from the glare of the afternoon sun. She continued to tap the buttons until it became apparent to her that sending multiple queries was not in fact going to change the answer.

“According to this the nearest Pokemon gym is in Reno,” she said.

“Reno as in Reno, Nevada?” Jonah asked. He watched as Hephaestus—that was the name he’d given Growlithe—marked territory that he was never going to get the chance to maintain.

“Yep.”

“You know how far that is?”

“I know,” Caroline said dejectedly.

“Well, I guess you should start walking then, huh?”

The group turned to see Raticlaw reclining in the branches of a nearby tree.

Syl looked at him in surprise. How did I not sense you?

Raticlaw gave her a toothy grin. “It wouldn’t be any fun if I told you, now would it? Besides, the answer’s so obvious that you’re going to kick yourself when you figure it out.”

“Coming to say goodbye?” Jonah asked, and while last night’s escapades had raised the rat Pokemon in his eyes the tone of his voice still betrayed a desire for an affirmative answer.

Raticlaw chortled. “And go back to my boring *** life back in the forest? ****. That.” He leapt down from the tree and strode towards the group, tail swishing eagerly. “Besides, you guys are totally lost without me even if we overlook the fact that you all still owe me big time. Nah, I think I’ll grace you with my presence instead.”

Raticlaw carefully gauged their reactions.

Caroline’s? Happy, albeit relative to the others.

Syl’s? Less than enthusiastic but resigned.

Jonah’s? Well, that was obvious. Oh well, tough ****.

Hachiman? Didn’t appear to have any strong feelings one way or the other.

The Growlithe? Was sniffing Noctowl pellets.

So call it two votes in favor, one against, one abstained and one disqualified due to excessive interest in avian excretions.

“Well, looks like it’s settled then,” Raticlaw said.

“We didn’t settle anything!” Jonah exclaimed.

“Sorry kid, the aye’s have it,” Raticlaw replied, gesturing to Jonah’s traveling companions. He turned and beckoned for them to follow. “Well come on then. Reno ain’t going to walk there by itself.”

Jonah and Caroline watched him walk down the path.

“Ugh,” Jonah said.

“At least it won’t be dull,” Caroline said helpfully.

Jonah looked back at the town in the distance and the forest behind it.

“I could have lived with dull,” he replied.
 

bobandbill

Winning Smile
Staff member
Super Mod
Good work again, and a rather longer chapter as well, as you warned. Oh well - more to read and enjoy, I say. And enjoy I did. Nice pacing in general, and a few nice moments in humour as well - and a good share of action. Nice atmosphere and tension int hose scenes.

Sometimes there are a few parts whcih are mostly dialogue, followed by long bits of description or the such - try to level it out a bit more. Also, there were instances in which a comma or two in places would have done nicely for pauses, as occassionally you went on a bit too long in sentences without minor pauses. Mostly in the first part though, and not too often. Here be an example:
Sure, it’s common sense that such areas are a breeding ground for criminal enterprise: even the police are aware of it. But while the police are ostensibly supposed to patrol said areas, there are only so many petty vandalism calls one can answer before deciding that the law’s time and expenses could be better spent elsewhere. Add in the trouble of legal niceties such as “search warrants” and a well placed bribe or two, and soon The Man becomes a non-issue for the criminally inclined.
Bolded commas are ones I suggest putting in for small pauses - and also a tad confused by 'The Man' being capitalised and what it means (tad tired and not knowledgeable in these terms... bleh. A bit of guesswork gets me there eventually though.)

Quotes of critique and commentary:
Syl watched as Caroline digested this. Trainer and Pokemon had no doubts about his battle prowess and both knew he had he had technically fulfilled his promise to bring them this far (even if they had been carrying him a decent part of the way), but there was no guarantee he would go any further. More importantly, neither of them were sure what had motivated him to do so in the first place. Pride? Duty? Ego? Given what they had experienced so far, probably the third.
Not to mention that they had left him in the forest...
“Do it, Hachiman!”
Comma when someone is addressed directly.
Jonah fought him while you were incapacitated, Syl said, and won.

The rodent glared at her. “You’re shitting me.”
No, she isn't.
What little respect Raticlaw had for Jonah disintegrated like a sandcastle in the path of a tidal wave.
Liked that. :)
“Yeah, yeah. Can’t force him to do something he will never do, can’t make him jump in front of a bus, etcetera etcetera,”
Suggest a comma there, but a nice explanation given there while keeping the story moving.
“Whatever *****, we still get paid so just—
Another quotation mark around the wrong way. Geez, this is so minor... but that's me.
Jonah and Caroline visibly relaxed at the sound of retreating footsteps.

And that’s when the Weavile came bursting through the window.
Didn't expect that.
Syl would doubtless know her trainer was in trouble,
Doubtlessly?
...In my professional opinion, you are totally screwed. Glad I’m not you.

Jonah felt something click inside his head.

Wait, ****.
Heh. :)
Whenever there is a television in a public area, one can be guaranteed of the existence of two universal truths:

1. It will be on regardless of whether or not anyone is actually watching it, and even if no one is there to watch it at all.

2. It will always be tuned to a news channel. The only exception to this rule is if the television has been placed in a gym or other workout area, where it will be tuned to a cooking channel instead.
Random musing - actually, I also experiance it being on sport an awful lot, but never mind that. Plus, one wonders about sport in the Pokemon would - battling seems to be it (a larger version of ****-fighting!).
“The next time you come back we can trade stories!” the nurse said as they walked out the front doors. Caroline watched as Jonah’s face scrunched up.

“What’s wrong with you?” Caroline asked.
I like these small references to previous events in previous chapters. :)

Quite good though - certainly longer, but you kept it interesting all the way. Keep it up, as usual.
 

Jerichi

ASB Overlord
Staff member
God, this is the most amazing Pokemon fanfiction I've ever read.

I don't know how the hell you do it, but you do.

Keep writing.

Or I will hunt you down.

And tape you to a deskchair.

And force you to write.

Or face life listening to Martha Stewart.

Forever.

For the sake of CC, you're missing a few commas here and there and have a couple extra. Not a surprise for anyone. Most of your comma mistakes appear in direct quotations. I believe the poster above me pointed out most of them.
 

TrueCharizard

Well-Known Member
Immense. I love this story, loved it from the second I read it, it makes me jealous to do so.

Here's some food for thought though..
Your action scenes have great description, I love the way you insinuate things are happening, without needing endless amounts of gore or silliness like that.

I would say your pokémon descriptions might need a little improvement here and there. I don't mind so much, because I'm so familiar with what the pokémon look like, but I've been called out on occasions for when my pokémon could have better description.

Whilst I love Raticlaw and I am not adverse to swearing (****, I can barely go ten minutes without uttering a curse of some description), it's almost over the top, too often. There is the odd time you have to decipher the strings of *** to work out what the exact swear word is too.

I love your use of clichés and the cynical tone you take.

I have another eight pages of an essay to write for Tuesday and I'm reading pokémon fan-fiction again because this story is so good. I hope you're happy ;)
 

fishyfool

And a nice chianti
Magnificent chapter, as always. Long, but with some sheer brilliance, such as the portrayal of Gold teeth, as well as sudden surprises, such as with Killer through the window, and methinks that Raticlaw may be part Dark, but either way, one brilliant chapter.

Could be longer, but I'm pressed for time here.
 

Sike Saner

Peace to the Mountain
I really liked the scenes in which Killer was after Jonah, Caroline, and Hephaestus; those were good and intense, I thought. I also particularly liked the scene in which all those Pokémon were closing in on the leader and the driver. That scene had this terrific, creepy atmosphere about it that I just loved. :D

On to other matters... On the one hand, the figment Rattata has (presumably) made his last appearances in this story, and I confess that I am going to miss the guy a bit. But on the other hand, his final wish resulted in what I consider to be the most hilarious moment in this story to date, and so I must also confess that I don't completely lament his exit. X3

Now for the highlights, of which there were many:

Syl and Caroline were sitting in a dingy fast food restaurant whose unofficial corporate motto was likely “Beat the Health Inspector.”

XD

Jonah fought him while you were incapacitated, Syl said, and won.

The rodent glared at her. “You’re shitting me.”

I swear upon my honor that it is nothing but the truth, she replied, and adding so that only the teenagers could hear, I won’t tell him if you won’t.
XP

“Yes sir. I have heard about how you took on a dozen enemies at once and triumphed.”

It was just possible to see Raticlaw puff his chest out. Unfortunately Hachiman chose to continue talking.

“Lord Jonah has even said that your battle prowess is second only to your ability to toss salad, although I am not sure how food preparation is related to battling.”

... XD

“We are not going to bust a gang shipment,” he said sternly. “You’re out of your friggin’ mind.”

“Why not?” Raticlaw asked. “You help me and I’ll look past the nasty things you said about me and not do horrible things to you in your sleep.”

Raticlaw is just so damned awesome. X3

One of the unwritten rules of organized crime requires that any gang, triad or mafia worth its salt work out of at least one dilapidated, shady warehouse staffed by equally shady men who are also well armed. No one is sure why this is a requirement (especially for gangs that don’t traffic in goods requiring large amounts of long-term storage), but in a business where tradition is enforced via blunt instruments to the head tradition tends to be questioned only in the abstract.

Nice. X3

The thug shuffled through until he found what he was looking for.

He opened the closet door, walked inside, and shut the door. And then he fell unconscious.

I found the image of the hypnotized gang member walking into a closet, shutting the door, and then promptly passing out to be pretty damned hilarious. XD

Many people hold the common misconception that teleportation is one of the easiest psychic powers to master. If the lowly Abra is a master of teleportation, they argue, how hard can it truly be?

The uninformed tend to discount the complexities of teleportation, instead viewing techniques like being able to lift a truck with one’s mind as a greater challenge to the psychic mind. While lifting a truck is an impressive feat by any measure, by psychic standards such techniques are the domain of banal mental brawn, an act performable by even the least psychically attuned with enough training and raw determination. Teleporting is a different beast altogether, requiring the ability to skillfully manipulate natural laws in several dimensions at once in order to facilitate the instantaneous transfer of matter over long distances safely. This is a difficult feat for creatures used to thinking only in four dimensions and failing in this delicate balancing act brings potentially disastrous consequences for the user.

This is part of the reason why one does not meet many dumb psychics: stupidity is literally fatal.

Loved this part. It gives due respect to the damned complex art that that sort of teleportation would surely be, plus that last part got a nice laugh out of me. XD

I lived on a Pokemon ranch. You’d be surprised at how many Pokemon simply must poke the Shroomish to see what happens.

There's something else that puts an amusing image in my head. XD

The canine Pokemon had curled up into a ball and gone to sleep, apparently disinterested in the tedious boredom of the stakeout and how—contrary to his expectations—no steaks were involved.

XP

“Woof!”

Jonah felt his heart stop. He slowly turned around and looked in horror as Growlithe barked in his sleep, the puppy Pokemon’s limbs twitching as a tableau of adventure played out inside the recesses of his mind. The thugs’ conversation had ground to a sudden halt, their attention drawn to the noise above them. Jonah and Caroline were so tense you could have bounced a coin off of either.

After what seemed like several forevers, one thug finally said, “just a stray mutt.”

My reaction to Growlithe's barking: Oh, snap, he just gave them away! They are screwed...

My reaction to the thugs dismissing the noise as "just a stray mutt": ... XD

Jonah and Caroline visibly relaxed at the sound of retreating footsteps.

And that’s when the Weavile came bursting through the window.

My reaction to that: O_O Holy crap!

Weavile turned to the trainers running into the hallway and screeched horribly, furious that its moment of triumph had been stolen from it. It charged them at a blinding speed, claws gleaming with ill intent in the moonlight. Its targets stood in the doorway, watching its advance with a mixture of fascination and horror. It leapt.

Jonah slammed the door shut as hard as he could.

The door gave off a cracking sound as well as a violent shudder as the Weavile went from 40 to zero in half an inch and a tenth of a second. There was a sound of dazed anger, soon followed by the ugly sound of claws carving into wood.

Someone or something crashing into a door like that will nearly always make me laugh--that there sure did. XD

An invisible force brought the two thugs’ heads together at high speed, causing the pair to crumple in a heap on the floor. Raticlaw stepped over them and walked over to the door. After a moment’s reflection he turned the key, causing the padlock to snap open.

“Dumbass didn’t stick the key all the way in,” he grunted as he heard Syl approaching from behind.

...XD

It was at this point that Jonah’s brain decided to kick in.

Well let’s see what you’re in this time, it told him. Hachiman probably could take on these dark types if you could get him out of his Pokeball…too bad you’ll get shot dead before he even emerges if you try. You could try running, and you might even make it a few yards before you die horribly. In my professional opinion, you are totally screwed. Glad I’m not you.

There, Jonah's brain is almost like a character in its own right, and an amusing one at that. XD I thought that was great.

The Weavile was lying on the ground with the panel cover embedded in its torso, its pitiful whimpers rising to meet them.

Damn, that's gotta hurt... o_o

Between this and half his gang being AWOL for no apparent reason, he would have described the idea of capping the driver as cathartic if he had actually known what “catharsis” meant.

*snort* XP

While a little moonlight shone through the windows on top of the roof it was very dark inside the warehouse, the kind of darkness where you can see well enough to get around but poorly enough where the signs of movement cause your animal instincts to scream at you as if you’re walking around in a suit made of ribeye steaks in front of a pack of hungry Mightyena.

You did a nice job of putting that feeling into words there, I'd say.

Much like the light in the warehouse, the human mind is often too good at the same time that it’s too poor: too poor in the sense that it’s ultimately not very good at saving humans from being stalked and eaten by very large and hungry creatures but too good at giving the imagination liberty to fill in the blanks.

I thought that was pretty well-put, too.

The hiss of a Sceptile emanated from somewhere in the darkness.

One of the details that helped that scene to have, in my opinion, great atmosphere.

“Oh yeah, I have to ask you guys something,” the Rattata said, “what are you going to do before you die?”

The Pokemon began to close in on the men. The Rattata watched them carefully before looking down to jot notes.

“Wet yourselves. Interesting,” he said, chewing on the eraser of his pencil.

XD

She was gonna pay, he decided. All he had to do was grab a few Pokemon from the stash and hunt her and her trainer down. He’d see if she was smiling then.

The sound of wet meat hitting concrete broke him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a Scyther standing over the bodies of his former comrades, arm scythes slick with a reddish tint. The bug Pokemon cried out and raised its arm scythes high, the moonlight glinting off the few areas on the blade that were still clean.

Gold teeth never had the chance to scream.

Things like that prove that what happens doesn't always have to be explicitly detailed--sometimes something not shown can have just as great an impact as, and sometimes a greater one than, something that is shown. My imagination was able to fill in the details of just what that Scyther did to him just fine with what was provided, and the image yielded was... damn. o_o

The Rattata sat on the edge of the rooftop, attempting to draw a sketch of the morning horizon as the sun slowly climbed over the surrounding mountains. What was actually going down on the page might politely be described as a drawing of a bald man buried up to his eyeballs in dirty laundry.

XD Nice.

“Yeah, that. Will I go back to you when I disappear, and what will happen then? What if I come back someday? Will I remember this, and will I remember it because it’s the me me being brought back or another me who has the memories of me but isn’t me and—“

@.@ Mind-boggling.

The rooms in the Pokemon center were extravagant by Spartan standards but spartan by anyone else’s

I liked that description. :D

She rolled on to her side, putting her back between herself and the source of the sound. It’s too early dad. Show me what you can do with your stomach later…

...What the frell? XD Ah, the wonders of the mind that's not exactly awake... X3

If bedhead was a disease Syl’s case could have been considered cancerous, and the Gardevoir watched him through lazily half-open eyes.

Wow. XD

“You wouldn’t deny a dying Pokemon his last wish, would you?” he asked in a sad voice. “You’re the only one who can do this for me. Please?”

Syl realized that she could see the bedframe above her through the figment’s pleading eyes, and she couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sympathy for the creature’s plight. She gently picked the Rattata off her face with both hands and sat up, gently cradling him in her arms like a newborn.

What can I do? she asked him.

He told her.

She threw him at the opposite wall as hard as her psychic powers would allow, where he bounced off with nary a sound and landed on top of Growlithe. The puppy Pokemon whimpered in his sleep but made no other movements. Syl gave a “humph,” throwing the covers back over herself as she rolled over to face the wall nearest her.

The sound of the Rattata’s fading voice was like the passing of the wind.

“So that means you won’t rub me between your buttcheeks?”

THAT WAS GLORIOUS. XD Seriously, that cracked me right the frell up. XD And I think that part of what made it so funny was how kind and sympathetic Syl was being towards the Rattata--until she found out what he wanted from him, that is. X3 An amusing and effective contrast indeed, in my opinion.

“I’ve got the Chansey working on the laundry, so I’ve got some time now,” the nurse said. She turned to Jonah. “Your sheets were filthy dear. Do you know that your Growlithe isn’t paper trained?”

Jonah grimaced: he had been in those sheets at the time and had gotten a front row seat.

o~o; Lovely. XP

The nurse smiled as she handed the PDA-sized devices to the trainers. “All done. You’re both officially members of the NPL.”

Jonah looked at the logo emblazoned on the front cover, unwilling to accept but faced with the unshakable reality that someone had seen that most obvious joke that could be made and yet had decided to go for it anyway.

Fwee for nipple-jokes. XD

Raticlaw carefully gauged their reactions.

Caroline’s? Happy, albeit relative to the others.

Syl’s? Less than enthusiastic but resigned.

Jonah’s? Well, that was obvious. Oh well, tough ****.

Hachiman? Didn’t appear to have any strong feelings one way or the other.

The Growlithe? Was sniffing Noctowl pellets.

So call it two votes in favor, one against, one abstained and one disqualified due to excessive interest in avian excretions.

Loved this part, too, especially with regards to the parts about Jonah's and Hephaestus's reactions. XD And that last line is priceless, too. XD


So yeah, frelling excellent chapter, there. Loved it. ^^

Oh, and I only just now noticed that there's a PM list. XD; I would like to be added to that, definitely. ^^
 
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Chozo

My Serebii face
Is this the post where the author adds to the thread's post count and bumps it back to the first page? I do believe it is!

Sometimes there are a few parts whcih are mostly dialogue, followed by long bits of description or the such - try to level it out a bit more. Also, there were instances in which a comma or two in places would have done nicely for pauses, as occassionally you went on a bit too long in sentences without minor pauses.

Yeah, I was trying to cut down on excessive amounts of commas in this chapter. I notice that when I'm typing I'll often add one mid-sentence if I stop to think about how to finish it, so I spent way more time than was healthy thinking "should I really have a pause here?" Nice to see some critique on that approach.

And yeah, I think I might love rambling idiotic dialogs way too much.

As far as Word formatting errors: honestly, I don't care too much if a quotation mark isn't oriented the right way so long as it's there. Lazy? Yeah. But I don't feel like playing grab-*** with Microsoft Word over it as long as it doesn't seriously interfere with the meaning of the sentence.

I would say your pokémon descriptions might need a little improvement here and there. I don't mind so much, because I'm so familiar with what the pokémon look like, but I've been called out on occasions for when my pokémon could have better description.

I honestly am not sure how to handle Pokemon description.

When most authors use real-world animals that people are familiar with (e.g. a wolf), they can generally get away with naming the animal's species and maybe some description to add flavor, like "it's mangy," "its fur is as white as the driven snow," and so on. They usually don't have to worry about describing it in exquisite detail ("it has four legs, an elongated snout with forward-facing eyes...") because it's a wolf, you know what a wolf is and you can go off that alone. Similarly, because this is Pokemon fanfiction I've decided for the moment to assume that people are familiar enough with the source material that if I say "Growlithe" or "Gardevoir" they know what they look like without a paragraph of description or so. This doesn't have to be the status quo forever, but that's my rationale.

Whilst I love Raticlaw and I am not adverse to swearing (****, I can barely go ten minutes without uttering a curse of some description), it's almost over the top, too often. There is the odd time you have to decipher the strings of *** to work out what the exact swear word is too.

Part of this is the inanity of the Serebii profanity filter. Shittytown is uncensored but p i s s e d is censored? Yeah, okay.

That said, I try to cut down on the profanity as much as possible because my proclivity for swearing is legendary amongst the kingdoms and much like Lewis Black I like to use the f-word in lieu of anything clever to say. But there will be times where it's inevitable: gangsters aren't known for the purity of their words and Raticlaw's rough around the edges.


Oh, and I only just now noticed that there's a PM list. XD; I would like to be added to that, definitely. ^^

Done.
 
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I Love THIS FIC!!!!!

This is the best fic I have ever read.

You're sense of humour is amazing and unpredictable.

I would point out all my favourite points but I would'nt want to bore you. However, I agree with Sike Saner that the 'buttcheek' joke was the best one on the whole fic.

I wish I were you...

wait... let me rephrase that

I wish I could write as well as you!

Please add me to the P.M. list. And when is the next chapter coming?

P.P.

PS: Raticlaw's my hero ;D
 
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Jerichi

ASB Overlord
Staff member
U.

PUT ME ON THE PM LIST NAO OR SUFFER MY WRATH.

I WILL THROW PLUSH AT YOU IF YOU DO NOT.

Please.

Thanks,
~Jeri.
 
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ALTOCHARIZARD55

Akatsuki Ruler
Damnit Reed, this is one hell of a fic. I don't know what the hell you have boiling inside your head, but it's spitting out some insanely good chapters. Best pokemon fanfic I've ever read, so keep writing, or I'll catapult Jeri at you. =P

Seriously, I've read it like three times, and I still haven't gotten bored.

Btw, add me to PM list, please. Thanks, =3

~Dustin

Also, when did Jim start putting ~ before his name, =o. I never heard about that on the discovery channel.
 

asperger1981

good reader
Raticlaw's attitude seems to be very well worked out; its image reminds of a couple of fictional doctors (e.g: Percival "Perry" Cox), specially after the bullet removal scene. The 'streetwise smartass' touch during the bullet removal seen enters my book as a perfect 'open ending'.

Stay writting.
 

Chozo

My Serebii face
Hey, Chozo! What happened? Why'd you stop writing?

This is the best comedy fic I've read. Don't let it get pruned.

I didn't stop writing, but work + ASB **** + summer classes = not enough couple hour blocks that I need to write effectively.

That said, I have one page written already. How long the chapter will be...I dunno.
 

Chozo

My Serebii face
Chapter 5

“La Puerta Dorada”, the humans had called it. The Gallade decided that they must have been gravely mistaken.

There was no door, only a tall metal fence stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. There was no gold, unless one’s vision was bad enough that “gold” and “dirt brown” looked identical. And thus there was certainly no golden door if the first two observations were correct.

The Gallade wiped his brow and moved the strap of his knapsack from one shoulder to the other. He looked around and was greeted with the same seemingly endless expanse of clay-brown dirt and scrubrush that had been a constant ever since he had set out on this journey. He had overheard the humans talking about the prospects of a better life up north, but under the oppressive sun and endless desert heat he could hardly discern the reason why they would be so eager to risk their lives.

Which brought the Gallade back to the iron-barred fence standing between him and his journey to the north. The black-painted fence stretched several stories into the air, and its image in the distance wavered slightly in the heat of the day. The Gallade momentarily considered turning back: there was certainly no shame in deciding that dying out in the desert lacked a certain dignity. On the other hand, the humans had said that this was one of the best ways to find a new start, and the Gallade had trouble believing that they were all mistaken. And if humans could do this, why couldn’t he?

Pride won out over caution, and the Gallade continued until he reached the fence. He was too large to fit through the gaps between the bars, but he had no intention of trying to squeeze through them. In the blink of an eye reality was seemingly edited, placing the psychic type on the opposite side of the fence. He continued walking, leaving the ineffectual barrier behind.

The Gallade had not gotten far when his attention was suddenly drawn to a large cloud of dust in the distance. As it came closer the psychic Pokemon was able to make out a white-painted vehicle with green stripes at the cloud’s vanguard, apparently the source of the dirt being kicked into the air. It suddenly occurred to the Gallade that it was also heading right for him.

He decided that it would be a good time to start running. He turned to flee, but found his body unwilling to obey. The truck was nearly upon him now, and it wasn’t slowing down.

The Gallade felt a sinking dread in his stomach as he begged his body to move. Wake up, wake up, wake up…

***************************************************************

“…Wake up!...Wake up!...Wake up!”

The Gallade lifted his head. The first thing his eyes saw was a small, pink egg-shaped Pokemon hopping up and down excitedly, chanting the same two words over and over. A small nurse hat was in turn bouncing up and down on her head out of sync with her movements, periodically revealing the small tuft of pink hair tied up into a ponytail beneath.

La niña?
he asked. The Happiny didn’t even break her tempo as she looked down on the now-awake Gallade.

“Oh!...You’re!...Awake!” the Happiny said, pausing to catch her breath in between bounces. She had a voice that could give the listener cavities.

Could you…stop jumping on me?

The Happiny continued to bounce up and down for what seemed to be (to the Gallade) several agonizing eternities, her face scrunched up in thought as she debated the merits of not using a patient’s colon as a trampoline. Suddenly, her faced snapped back to its default expression, a sort of bright ebullience that suggested that the entire Chansey species was in on a joke that the rest of the world wasn’t.

“Okay!” she said, taking one final bounce off the Gallade’s stomach to land on the floor below.

Now slightly more coherent and less focused on the pain in his stomach, the Gallade asked, Where am I?

“The Pokemon center!” the Happiny replied.

…Could you be more specific?

There was a long pause.

“Nope!” The tone of the Happiny’s voice suggested that her ignorance in this area concerned her not in the least.

The Gallade moved to sit up so that he could regain eye contact with the small Pokemon, but found that his body refused to obey, held down by some unseen force. He lifted his head and discovered that several thick leather straps had been used to secure him to the bed that he was lying on.

La niña?


“Hm?”

Why am I strapped to the bed?

Another long pause. The Gallade thought he could make out the sound of her feet pitter pattering along the floor as she paced back and forth, the Happiny apparently lost in thought.

Eventually, she spoke. “Oh yeah, that’s right! They couldn’t find your Pokeball so they said you had to be strapped down in case you were…Randy?...no…wrapping?...no…um…rabid…yeah, that’s it! Just sit tight and I’ll ask somebody to—“

The Happiny--too busy listening to the sound of her own voice--walked right into the Gallade’s left shin. She looked up in surprise, and the Gallade could almost see the Happiny struggle with the realization that the course of events had deviated far from her internal script.

A few moments passed before it occurred to the Gallade that an explanation was expected from him. I am psychic. I can teleport…you know this?

Tears welled up in the Happiny’s eyes, and she began to sob uncontrollably. “Oh no!” she said in between pitiful wails, “I messed up again!”

The Gallade suddenly felt like he was not only out of his depth, but that he had managed to float his way out into the middle of the ocean and right into a school of bloodthirsty Sharpedo.

Do not cry…it is okay… the Gallade said, although what conviction was there was being overwhelmed by baffled confusion.

The Happiny’s waterworks continued unabated. “No it’s not! I was only supposed to check on you: if they think I let you go they’ll ding me again!”

The Gallade could almost feel the watchful eyes of dozens of Sharpedo upon him. Is that bad?

She said nothing, but sniffled and nodded. The Gallade may have had many questions in need of an answer, but they suddenly found themselves taking a backseat to preventing the small pink Pokemon from going completely hysterical. He thought fast.

If you strap me back down to the bed and get someone to let me go…that will work?

Slowly, the tears subsided. “…I guess…”

A few minutes later, the Gallade found itself strapped down on the bed. He turned his head to the side to see the Happiny in much higher spirits, her earlier outburst apparently forgotten.

“I’ll be back, ‘kay?”

Alright.

I hope she does not forget, the Gallade thought as she bounded out of the room. Minutes later he received a more pressing thought.

I need to use el bano.

***************************************************************

There was nothing particularly notable about the Pokemon center’s kitchen, except that it had clearly been designed for users that were roughly three and a half feet tall. It shared the same design aesthetic as the rest of the center: namely lots of white interspersed with disturbingly clean metallic silver appliances. The only break in the visual monotony was the staggering array of pastel colors that made up the (Chansey-sized) chairs and tables in the dining area of the kitchen, indicating that whoever designed the room certainly did not wind up purchasing the furniture.

One of the Chansey—apparently what passed for the center’s cook—hummed away tunelessly as she manipulated various pots and pans on the stove. Fortunately for the various people and Pokemon who passed through the center the Chansey’s cooking was far better than her musical prowess, but for the currently ravenous Gallade—hunched awkwardly over a table that he was a foot too tall for as he eagerly shoveled food into his mouth--it wouldn’t have mattered if she couldn’t have made cereal without burning it. The Happiny watched him eat with a mixture of both nursely approval and awe.

One of the advantages of telepathic communication is the ability to carry on a conversation even when one’s mouth is full. So, la niña…

The Happiny gave him a confused look. “Why do you keep calling me that? I’m not Nina, I’m Epi.”

A pause, then, “You say ‘Nina’ funny too.”

The Gallade considered explaining the nuances of a world with more than one language, but thought better of it. Instead he asked, how did I end up here?

Epi made her “thinking face,” as the Gallade was beginning to call it. “I dunno,” she said finally, “they didn’t take me.”

Why?

“They said it’d be too scary for a Happiny like me,” she explained, taking on the mien of any child who has been told that they must be at least as tall as the cartoon lizard to ride the roller coaster, “but they told me what happened.”

There was another pause and another thinking face.

“So they all went out to the place and they said that the sheriff was saying a lot of bad words…”

***************************************************************

“This is a goddamn fiasco,” the sheriff muttered.

A healthy portion of the town’s police, firefighers and animal control officers had been roused to deal with what seemed to be a veritable infestation of Pokemon inside an old abandoned warehouse on the bad side of town. One building—abandoned the sheriff noted, grateful for the small miracle--was already burning, and it likely wouldn’t be the only one if things got out of hand. The sheriff might have won his office by virtue of being the only one willing to take the job, but he was nevertheless politically savvy enough to realize that half the town burning on his watch would be detrimental to his long term career prospects.

The patrol car sitting between the sheriff and the warehouse served as an impromptu bulwark for the ad hoc command post. A pair of deputies were nearby spreading maps and building plans on a plank of plywood sitting on a small pile of cinder blocks that had found new purposes in life as a makeshift table. Things had not been going well from the start: they had had no idea anything was amiss until firefighters sent to extinguish a building in the area noticed Pokemon wandering about that were not native to this part of the country, and in a few cases not even the continent. They had been able to find the source of the infestation quickly enough, but any further attempts to do more than contain the problem had resulted in injured officers and a healthy monetary sum in destroyed equipment.

The sheriff looked out to the line of police cruisers nearer to the building, and grimaced as a gout of flame erupted from an irate fire Pokemon that had been skulking just outside the warehouse walls. He grimaced as one of the patrol cars was engulfed in the flames, the officers that had been sheltering behind it scattering in every direction.

A deputy ran up to him from behind, short on breath. “She’s here.”

The sheriff did not turn to acknowledge his subordinate, and his expression got progressively fouler as he watched the police cruiser burn. “Took her long enough. Did she ****ing walk?”

“Why, yes I did.”

The sheriff turned towards the female voice, his retort temporarily stymied by the sight of a middle-aged woman in a Pokemon center nurse uniform standing at the head of the largest group of Chansey he had ever seen gathered in one place.

To his credit, the sheriff recovered quickly. “We have hundreds of Pokemon threatening to run riot through the town and you’re out taking a goddamn stroll!?”

The nurse gave him an apologetic look. “Never did take my driving test, and I never did think much of cars when I could ride a Pokemon instead… not that I would have been able to fit all these Chansey in a car.”

The sheriff gave her a look that can only be described as the nonverbal equivalent of stupid *****. “Ever heard of a pokeball?” he asked.

He received a blank stare in return. “NPL regulations forbid a trainer from carrying more than six occupied pokeballs at a time. As a representative I am required to follow league regulations at all times.”

It is said that only in a crucible do people reveal who they really are, empty words forgotten as their actions come to the fore. All present were about to see the makeup of the sheriff’s soul, and they were about to find out that his soul was a suitable substitute for road tar.

“Listen to me, you *****,” he began, “there’s too much on the goddamn line for you to be jacking off a bunch of corporate fat cats who pay for your little shop of ****ing horrors and your pack of pink retards.”

The nearby deputies looked nervously between the sheriff and the nurse, painfully cognizant of the disadvantages of a top-down command structure when the man on top snaps. Every Chansey present wore a nearly identical look of shocked horror.

The sheriff gestured to the burning cruiser as he continued, “That’s 30 grand down the ****ing drain because you were too busy dicking around. If things get any worse thanks to your idiocy God as my witness I will make sure that the only place you can work as a nurse is in the middle of God-forsaken Africa with all the other dog-****ers!” He had been slowly advancing on her as he spoke until he was leering over her. “Do I make myself clear?”

The nurse regarded him with an eerie calm. Pokemon training and Pokemon medicine are no places for the timid, and she was accomplished in both.

She momentarily broke eye contact to speak to her retinue of Chansey. “Excuse me ladies,” she asked politely, “would you mind covering your ears?”

Small Chansey arms flew up to cover eardrums with the sort of synchronicity that can only be found in army platoons.

The nurse turned back to the sheriff and began to explain that she had spent decades training and taking care of Pokemon that could as easily have ripped her in half as they could have blinked, and that she was therefore unmoved by the petty threats of a man who was too big for his britches. She furthermore explained (in a case of insight that reveals itself only when suffering the effects of sheer indignation) that if the sheriff had been halfway competent at his job hundreds of Pokemon might not have mysteriously appeared in a warehouse in an abandoned part of town known to be frequented by those of legally dubious incomes. The nurse further posited that his constituents might think less of him should anyone present reveal the sheriff’s “enlightened” views on gender and race relations, and that if he was wise he would keep such considerations in mind especially since her assistance could mean the difference between accolades for his department or an uncomfortable look into his track record during his tenure in office.

This is a summary of what the nurse said. If run through most profanity filters, the exact transcript of what she spoke to the sheriff would result in what most people would interpret as an attempt to create a new writing system using only asterisks.

The nurse turned back to her Chansey with her hands over her ears. She removed them, and dozens of Chansey limbs followed.

“Let’s get to work!” the nurse said cheerfully, and the Chansey all gave a chirp of acknowledgement as they marched towards the building as one body. They filtered around the sheriff like a rock in a stream but otherwise ignored him, the man standing stock still and white as a sheet.

The deputies watched the procession go, in awe of the utter precision of it all and what they had just borne witness to.

“That’s one tough lady,” one deputy finally said, “I mean, holy sh—“

The nurse managed to overhear him and interrupted. “Language, please!”

***************************************************************

The bodies of the thugs lay cooling as their essence spilled out onto the floor below. Pokemon big and small, predator and prey, gentle and fierce, all were united by solidarity and common cause.

It lasted all of two minutes.

No one is quite sure how it started, but a likely answer is that a predatory Pokemon realized that it had been in a pokeball for quite a long time and that it was now ravenously hungry. It had likely taken notice of a Pokemon that it would normally eat in the wild and decided that said Pokemon would probably not miss that juicy-looking limb that coincidentally happened to be attached to its body. The prey Pokemon had likely objected quite vehemently to this, and a fight had broken out. And much like a bar fight others had joined in, not necessarily because they had any stake in it but because it would have been such a shame to let only a few have all the fun.

The Gallade ducked a flaming roundhouse delivered by a Blaziken who had chosen him as a target of convenience. He regained his balance just as the Blaziken used the momentum of its roundhouse foot to spin into a powerful back kick. There was a sickening keening wail of psychic energy as his mentally-reinforced arm blade barely deflected the blow.

This was not his kind of fight. The Gallade feared no foe and would not willingly shy from battle, but he vastly preferred one on one combat instead of free-for-all melees: he could hardly dodge without inadvertently stumbling into the path of another irate Pokemon, and the tendency of most of the Pokemon present to attack whatever was currently in front of them made using practiced feints nearly impossible.

Even as he fought to stay alive the Gallade’s mind reached out, attempting to find the strange rat-like Pokemon who had seemingly disappeared when the melee started. With so many Pokemon in close quarters and in full fighting rage it was akin to discerning a certain voice in the middle of a yodeling convention.

The Gallade narrowly dodged a Flamethrower that the Blaziken spewed at him, and he could feel the heat wash across his body even as the licking flames passed to the side with barely inches to spare. An enraged cry indicated that the missed attack had inadvertently found a target, and the psychic type rolled to the side just as a badly singed Nidoking stormed towards the unwitting Blaziken with murder in its eyes. The Blaziken turned towards the interloper, its battle with the Gallade apparently forgotten.

The Gallade took the spare moment to catch his breath, the fight raging around him yet momentarily ignorant of his presence. He looked for any available escape route, and found between each one and himself a tide of enraged Pokemon obsessed with beating--for lack of a better term--the stupid out of each other. He could teleport but he would likely end up appearing in the middle of a scrum, and there was no other way short of flying to get past the creatures in his way. The Gallade gritted his teeth and prepared for a long, hard slog to freedom.

He was the first to hear it, likely because he was the only one who had not been fighting at that moment. A chorus of voices rang out over the din, singing a melody that somehow brought every Pokemon present out of its bloodlust and into as close a state of coherent thought that each species was capable of.

Humans that do not speak Pokemon often believe the songs of Pokemon contain phrases or words of power: how else, they reckon, can a Jigglypuff’s song render a rampaging Gyarados as docile as a Flaaffy? This is a reasonable assumption. It is also completely wrong.

In truth, many Pokemon songs have no words, mainly because they need no words: words at their most powerful can merely make a man desire to strangle out the life of another man whose only crime was probably being born in the wrong place (this is hardly the accomplishment most laud it to be, mainly because most people are only a step or two away from strangling someone anyway). The most powerful of songs, on the other hand, can move the soul itself.

Chansey began to slowly filter in, each voice raised in a beautiful melody. Pokemon nearest the growing tide of pink flesh collapsed onto the floor in a dreamless slumber, and soon sleeping Pokemon radiated out from the ever-growing chorus like ripples from a stone tossed in the water.

The Gallade moved to run, to escape while he still had his chance, but he felt his limbs refuse to obey, immovable as granite blocks. He collapsed to his knees.

The chorus of Chansey advanced past him, paying him no more heed than a Steelix might pay witless Geodude underneath its great bulk. He watched them go, and then his world became black.

***************************************************************

Glass pane doors got dirty fast, what with all the fingerprints and canine Pokemon who tended to rub their noses on them willy-nilly.

In absence of being able to go with the others, Epi had decided to make herself useful and take some window cleaner and a towel to the center’s doors. Clean doors presented a welcoming image to road-worn and dusty trainers, she had been told. What she had not been told, however, is that she needed a stepladder so that trainers would feel welcome above their kneecaps.

Had it occurred to her to think of this, however, she would have likely and in admirable Chansey fashion declared it an unnecessary detail, arguing that the thought counted most. Chansey optimism was, in other words, the kind of mindset that allowed a man to fiddle while Rome burned around him and at the same time think that whatever was cooking smelled awfully good.

Nevertheless, the Happiny was currently disappointed, which was about as close as a Chansey-line Pokemon ever came to true sadness. “Maybe when you’re bigger, Epione,” the nurse had said in a kind voice that nevertheless brooked no room for disagreement. “Why don’t you hold down the center while we’re gone?”

Epi was pretty sure that the center wasn’t going anywhere, seeing as how it had always remained in one place ever since she arrived. Nevertheless she kept an eye out for any signs of building movement even as she dutifully scrubbed at the inside of the doors. Soon enough she became engrossed in her scrubbing, lost to the world.

The world found her with a vengeance as she felt the sensation of the door giving way followed by the uncomfortable sensation of shoe leather meeting face. The Happiny’s egg-shaped body saved her as she tumbled backwards and wound up rolling out of the way just as 100-odd pounds of person crashed to the floor where she had been scrubbing just moments before.

“Ow!” a female voice cried out

“Caroline!” came a male voice in reply to the first’s distress. Epi watched from where she had rolled to the side as a Gardevoir suddenly materialized by the fallen girl and helped her to her feet, concern evident on her face. The Happiny recognized the Pokemon as the injured Gardevoir who had come into the Pokemon center not long ago.

“Watch where you’re going!” the Happiny called out to the group who had just burst through the door in a voice offering helpful advice rather than demanding an apology.

The blonde hair girl turned towards the voice and looked in horror at the vague imprint of the underside of her shoe on the Happiny’s front. “Oh no! Are you okay?”

Epi rubbed her front, and felt nothing that wouldn’t heal. “Uh huh. Sorry for being in the way.” Most Chansey would apologize to an assassin for being in the way of their bullet.

Epi felt a thought tug at the back of her mind, that somehow this event was important and that she had borne witness to it for a reason. “Hey,” she began, “where did you go?”

“Uh…we’ve been here the entire time,” the black-haired boy said, said hair slick with sweat. There were dark rings radiating outwards from the collar and armpits of his t-shirt.

Epi gave the group a critical look. “Then why are you out there?”

The boy shifted his weight nervously. “We, uh, went out the back door, to, uh…”

Get some fresh air, the Gardevoir added helpfully.

“Yeah, and when we, uh, tried to come back in the door was, uh, locked. So, uh, we came in the front,” the boy finished lamely.

Epi looked at the group. One of the girl’s overall straps had been tied into a makeshift knot. All of them looked dirty, and all of them looked like they had been sweating heavily.

Chansey know the definition of “lie.” They believe it means to be horizontal on the ground.

“Oh, okay. Good night,” Epi said. The trainers nodded at her and hurried towards the stairs.

The Happiny sighed, grabbed the discarded towel, and got back to work on the doors.

“They never told me about a back door,” she pouted, “they never tell me anything here.”

***************************************************************

As an aside, the sheriff’s tirade against the nurse happened to be caught by a patrol cruiser’s dashboard camera. As is typical in the internet age, the video of said encountered soon enough found its way online, where it unsurprisingly became a major fiasco for the town’s sheriff’s department. As is typical the sheriff—family at his side—issued a tearful apology at a press conference, explaining that he was, in fact, deeply sorry for all the things he said (and that they were “a tragic error in judgment that have hurt many people”) and that he truly, in his heart of hearts, loved all colors, creeds, and religions.

He resigned soon after. His replacement went on to have a successful multi-term career as sheriff of the force until he was caught soliciting sex from underage boys.

In American politics, this is known as “progress.”

***************************************************************

”…and that’s where ‘wax on, wax off’ comes from!” Epi exclaimed. The two had just finished their meal and were meandering through the halls of the Pokemon center. The Gallade was content for the moment simply to stretch his legs and move around after being out for who knew how long, but he had to be mindful of not quickly outpacing his tiny companion.

There was an awkward silence as the Gallade tried to determine how the conversation had wandered from vulgar police officers to techniques for glass cleaning. I am…fairly certain that is not what I asked about, the Gallade finally said in the most charitable way he could think of.

The Happiny blinked. “Not washing windows? What was I supposed to be telling you about again?”

It…does not matter, I suppose, the Gallade sighed. The pair continued their aimless wandering through the halls, the only sound being the Gallade’s footfalls and the occasional overheard chattering of a small group of Chansey in a nearby room. The Gallade felt it fortunate that Epi had decided to stay quiet long enough to let him think, but whether it was due to a sense of empathy or her not being able to come up with any other conversation topics was difficult to say.

The Gallade had sought, certainly enough. He just wasn’t finding. Certainly he could go the rest of his life without knowing what exactly had occurred last night and who exactly (as well as what) that rat-like creature was, but his sense of curiosity refused to abide it. And that Gardevoir, the first of his species he had encountered in who knew how long…

The Gallade shook his head. Those thoughts weren’t gentlemanly. Nevertheless, he wanted to know more, although he was trying to convince himself that it was his curiosity and not his libido doing the asking.

He had one last line of inquiry to fall back on, he realized. It likely wouldn’t result in anything, he mused, but it wasn’t as if he had anything else.

Epi.

“Hrm?”

Did a female Gardevoir come into the center? She and the rat had appeared to have been acquainted, and the Gallade surmised that she had to know something.

Epi thought for a few moments. “Um, one came in here with her trainer not too long ago.”

I see.

“Yeah,” Epi replied, about to show a fundamental lack of the importance of establishing context, “she had been shot or something.”

Epi could feel a palpable psychic reverberation of horror and looked upwards to see the Gallade staring at her in shock. She was what?!

“Um…she got better.” Contrary to the Happiny’s expectations, this did not seem to assuage the larger Pokemon.

The Gallade’s mind went over recent events over and over. The look of panic on her face, the rat-like Pokemon telling her to go…he should have gone along and helped protect her, but he had not and she had been injured. The very thought that his inaction had caused a maiden to come to harm caused the entire chivalrous core of his being to recoil in horror.

Epi watched as the Gallade’s countenance turned grim. The psychic Pokemon knew that there was only one way to assuage this dishonor. The Gardevoir and her trainer…where are they now?

Another pause. “They left, I think.”

The Gallade could feel his hope sink like a lead balloon even as he was filled with a sense of purpose. And you do not know where they went?

“No,” Epi said sadly. Her face flickered as a thought suddenly clawed its way to the forefront of her mind. “But one of the Chansey might know!”

***************************************************************

“The trainers that come through always talk about going to Reno,” the Chansey at the front desk said, “I think that’s where they’re headed.”

It had eventually occurred to Epi that the Chansey who would most likely know where the Gardevoir and her trainer had gone would probably the Chansey that was assigned to watch the lobby of the Pokemon center. This sounds like an impressive deduction when one considers that said Chansey would be witness to nearly every person or Pokemon that entered or left the building. It becomes considerably less impressive when one realizes that Epi only came to this conclusion when she had run out of other Chansey to ask.

The Gallade, while relieved to have a lead, nonetheless remained skeptical. Think?

“They didn’t say where they were going,” the Chansey conceded, “but trainers always talk about going there. Why not them?”

In his short time in their care the Gallade had learned to be wary of the one-penny-on-the-tracks-away-from-a-derailment Chansey train of thought: regardless, he could find little fault with her logic.

Muchos gracias, senoritas, the Gallade said, giving a polite bow. You have been gracious hosts, but now I must take my leave.

He made it several steps towards the front door before he heard, “excuse me, where are you going?”

He looked back at the Chansey, confusion evident on his face. I told you, I am leaving…this is not a problem?

The Chansey mirrored his look of confusion. “Who said you could leave?”

For reasons he would never be able to quite understand, the Gallade turned to Epi for help.

“Oh…” Epi finally said, “um, they told us not to let any of you go…I forget why, but…um…was it paperwork?”

“That was one of the reasons,” the Chansey added helpfully.

What? When can I leave?

“Don’t get upset,” the Chansey said helpfully, “it’ll only take a few weeks.”

The Gallade could feel his one last chance about to slip through his fingers. I cannot wait that long, senorita.

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

The very idea that he would have to be disrespectful to a female rankled him, but the Gallade realized he had no other choice. Forgive me, but I am leaving. He turned back towards the door and began walking.

The Chansey let out a shrill high note, causing the Gallade to momentarily stop in his tracks, and he felt a growing sense of apprehension as he heard doors fly open and distinctive footfalls pass through them. When he finally turned around he found himself facing down a veritable battalion of Chansey that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. What was even more disconcerting is that their normally jovial facial expressions had given way to nearly identical glares of stony determination. They watched passively as the Gallade’s arm blades extended with a distinctive keek.

Please do not come any closer, the Gallade said, assuming a guarded fighting stance. I will have to do something that I will regret.

He could hear the Chansey that he had been speaking with from somewhere in the middle of the pack. “We are only doing what we’re told. I’m sorry.” There was no malice or threat in her voice, just genuine sadness at the turn recent events had taken.

The group began to advance. The Gallade spared a momentary glance at Epi, who looked back at him helplessly.

As am I.

The room was filled with a brilliant flash of light. The Chansey at the front of the pack cried out as their vision went white, the pure intensity of the flash causing temporary blindness. The room quickly found itself filled with the chattering of confused Chansey, their metaphorically well-oiled machine thrown into metaphorical chaos by the metaphorical spanner in the metaphorical works.

“What happened?”

“Where is he?”

“Ow, my foot!”

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay!”

Those Chansey who had had enough of their kin between them and the Gallade to have been shielded from the Flash eventually managed to push their way to the front in the resulting confusion.

“Oh no, look!” one cried out. The Gallade had was in fact doing something he regretted, and that was running from a fight as fast as his legs would take him.

And he had a small, pink passenger clinging to one of his legs for dear life.

“After him!” another Chansey cried out. A tide of pink erupted from the doors of the Pokemon center, hot on the tail of the fleeing Pokemon.

***************************************************************

The Gallade teleported again, only to find to his dismay that he arrived at his destination with Epi still firmly clamped to his leg. It was no good, he realized: her will to hold on was greater than his will to remove her, and he could ill afford the time it would take to stop and physically pry her off. He also noted that with a little more will the Happiny would probably wind up cutting off the circulation in his leg.

Let go! The Gallade yelled at her. His rational mind knew that it would do no good, but his rational mind was currently being gainsaid by the raw desperation that occurs when one is chased by a group of Chansey with the tenacity of a pack of starving wolves.

“No!” Epi replied, her voice shaking but firm. “I’m your nurse! If you run away I’ll get dinged again!”

What is one ding? Please let go!

“I have a lot of dings!” Epi said, panic evident in her voice at the prospect. “I can’t get any more dings!”

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted by the cries of the Chansey following him.

“Stop! In the name of love!”

“Otherwise we’ll be very cross with you!”

“No dessert either!”

“And you can forget about movie night!”

“Wait! Isn’t that too harsh?”

“…okay, you can have movie night. But no dessert, we mean it!”

“Yeah!” the Chansey said in unison.

The Gallade turned the corner at the nearest intersection, narrowly teleporting to avoid a car whose driver had not been paying much attention while making a right turn. Had the Gallade been paying attention to the vehicle afterwards he would have watched as the driver stopped in the middle of his offensive gesture, mouth agape as Chansey flowed around and, in some cases, over his vehicle.

The Gallade made turn after turn, but still the Chansey followed. The chivalrous part of him wanted to do little more than crawl in the deepest hole it could find and die of embarrassment at the fact he—a proud warrior and gentleman--was running from a group of Pokemon who thought “slaughter” was the misspelled plural of “laughter.”

Another part of him realized that escaping would be all for naught if he did not know one very important detail.

Perdon, he called behind him, which way is Reno?

One of the Chansey behind him piped up. “Turn left and then go straight as the Murkrow flies!”

Gracias!

“You’re welcome!”

***************************************************************

Two old men sat in a dingy one-step-above-fast-food-open-24-hours restaurant that boasted of serving the best breakfast one had ever had for dinner. Since that doesn’t really narrow anything down much it should also be noted that said old men dining in said restaurant happened to be relatively near to the events described above as they were taking place.

One of the men looked through the sports section of a newspaper with obvious disgust. “Pokemon trainers these days. What a bunch of spoiled brats. Listen to this: ‘a Gyarados is nearly impossible to catch unless you come prepared with a healthy supply of Net Balls.’ Feh!”

The old man dropped the paper back onto the table, as if its very existence disgusted him. His companion picked it up and looked at the source of disgust in question.

“Back in the old days we only had three types of Pokeballs: good, better and best,” the second said, munching thoughtfully on a piece of bacon, “we got by just fine.”

“Yep,” replied the first. “Sissies these days won’t even try to catch a damn Goldeen without some ridiculously colored pokeball in their packs. They don’t know how easy they got it.”

“I remember when the league only allowed the use of one hundred and…” the second thought aloud, now chewing deliberately on a piece of toast. “…something number of Pokemon. S’all you needed, really.”

The first nodded sagely. “Ain’t nothing you can’t beat with a good Snorlax or Tauros at your side.” His gaze wandered off into the distance witnessing times long past, but soon returned to the present. “These new trainers think you gotta have a Pokemon with lots of colors and shoots fire out its *** or you’re not a real trainer. Those pantywaists don’t know what it’s like to fight a psychic without a bunch of dark and ghost types waiting to bail their stupid selves out either.”

“Hrm,” the second said. “They were pretty powerful back in the day though.”

The first scoffed. “They bleed, same as anything else. Trainers these days just don’t raise ‘em right. If they did…eh?”

The two men turned to look out the window in time to see a flash of white, green and a hint of blue rush past. It was soon followed by a cacophonous wave of pink flesh. Such things have been known to bring awkward halts to conversations.

“Hey Joe…that ain’t my mind playin’ tricks on me?” the first said after some hesitation.

Joe looked at the other patrons, each staring out the window in stunned silence. “Don’t think so, Willie.”

“What was it that those Chansey were chasing, you reckon?”

Joe leaned back. “Saw one of ‘em on Okinawa, I think. Japs called it an ‘Erureido’.”

It wasn’t the name of any Pokemon Willie recognized, which meant that it was newfangled and thus open to criticism. “That’s the problem with all these ‘new’ Pokemon,” he said, “they ain’t worth a God’s damn.”
 

katiekitten

The Compromise
x3 Absolutely brilliant, hun. *gives cookie* A wonderful way to spend an afternoon. xD

I have to say, my favourite character so far is the Gallade. x3 Although the other characters are so wonderfully written, I have a hard time decided. Really hilarious. 'Moving wall of pink flesh'. xD

I especially loved how you portrayed the Chansey. xD! Haven't giggled so much in a while.

Well done, hun! :3
 

bobandbill

Winning Smile
Staff member
Super Mod
Yay, a chapter update.

Quite the good one again as well - thoroughly enjoyed that. I'm really liking the focus placed on the Gallade right now - you portray him really well. Easy to relate to and fun to read about - good work on another good character!

Another bonus was the addition of more Chansey. You write them rather well, and with good humour. Also hurrah for a Happini as well. Most of the highlights came from the Chansey, save for the swearing Nurse Joy - that scene was quite good too, IMO.

Description was good again - although at times some of the dialogue could have been beefed up a touch... but personally I don't care too much as the humour from the dialogue well makes up for it. :) Pacing for the most part was good as well, and use of commas and pauses did seem spot on this time IMO - better this time around.

The opening scene for me wasn't that enjoyable, somewhat of a slightly slow start. The sentences there in that scene were also similarly lengthed - a few could be changed up as it felt just a tad repetitive there. Most sentences started with 'There', 'The' , 'He' and 'And' as well, you could have changed up the beginning word a bit more than what you did. Minor but noticeable. But it picked up from there. :)
“Oh!...You’re!...Awake!”
Hmm, I don't think each word has to be capitalised there in the dialogue, but maybe a new sentence started each time? Doesn't quite feel like that though.
…Could you be more specific?

There was a long pause.

“Nope!”
Heh.
Epi made her “thinking face,”
Minor - but stick to quotation marks only when things are being said. Kinda up to you but there are usually only meant for dialogue... :/
As an aside, the sheriff’s tirade against the nurse happened to be caught by a patrol cruiser’s dashboard camera. As is typical in the internet age, the video of said encountered soon enough found its way online, where it unsurprisingly became a major fiasco for the town’s sheriff’s department. As is typical the sheriff—family at his side—issued a tearful apology at a press conference, explaining that he was, in fact, deeply sorry for all the things he said (and that they were “a tragic error in judgment that have hurt many people”) and that he truly, in his heart of hearts, loved all colors, creeds, and religions.

He resigned soon after. His replacement went on to have a successful multi-term career as sheriff of the force until he was caught soliciting sex from underage boys.

In American politics, this is known as “progress.”
Hmm... for me, well it just felt kinda out of place. Really did feel as an 'aside' - a bit out of place and wrecked the pacing just a bit. Also felt just a bit unnecessary and detracted from what was happening before it. Others may disagree, but I didn't quite like that so much...
”…and that’s where ‘wax on, wax off’ comes from!” Epi exclaimed.
...although that more than made up for it. :)
“Stop! In the name of love!”

“Otherwise we’ll be very cross with you!”

“No dessert either!”

“And you can forget about movie night!”

“Wait! Isn’t that too harsh?”

“…okay, you can have movie night. But no dessert, we mean it!”

“Yeah!” the Chansey said in unison.
Favourite Chansey part there, IMO. Again - they were all good, including the imagery I conjured up whenever you mentioned a giant pink mass of them. :) Last bit was good too - like that you used that topic being discussed there, heh. :)

Generally, very good. Not as action packed as the previous one, and with the odd blip, but still enjoyable, and again your comedy is amusing. (BTW, you have some nominations for the fic awards, if you didn't know ^^). Looking forward to you continue give Pratchet a run for his money. Keep it up!
 
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asperger1981

good reader
First, were are the 'ñ's dude, you missed them from a lot of spanish words (mostly in an unintentional way, may I say so) you had problems with your keyboard or something.

Second, WELCOME BACK CHOZO, this fic will be welcome as soon as Raticlaw and company reappear on it, so be ready soon man.

Read you later, alligator!
 

Jerichi

ASB Overlord
Staff member
I'm not even done yet, and damn, this is already a pretty awesome chapter.

Quick Spanish grammar fix though. The use of "la," while somewhat proper, is a bit awkward and rare. "Niña" works just as well and sounds much more natural. Also, baño is the proper spelling.

Will give a more thorough review when time allows. For now, major kudos to you.
 
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