Morpher01
Bewear my power
The forums' new face-lift feels like a good time to do something I've tossed around for ages now...
I'm someone who's been on-and-off of Serebii for some years now (lately more "off" than "on" due to a variety of factors), but mostly stuck to the fanfic section. Had good times, had times in which I made a fool of myself, made a few friends, and wrote many fics of middling quality. One of those--which I wrote, rewrote, posted, and reposted several times without ever actually finishing it any of those times--was my attempt at a journey fic: Proving Grounds.
Given my usual lack of activity, I don't imagine I'll be calling Serebii home much longer; moving on to greener pastures and so on. But after all the effort I put into the planning and execution of Proving Grounds, I don't really feel good about leaving it unfinished, regardless of how big or small its audience was. So, as my last fanfic contribution to Serebii, I figure I might as well give old Proving Grounds one last try. Given the size of this project (journey fics tend to be loooooooooong projects), any feedback on how to make it its best will be greatly appreciated.
So, now that I've rambled on enough, let's actually get to the preview.
One after another, two feet wrapped in well-worn shoes trudged across the sands of the Orre region. Their owner’s body at large was shrouded in a cloak of regal crimson, lined with gold trimming and sporting a hood to shield his face from the burning sun. The figure reached one hand into the folds of his cloak, pulling out a faded brown canteen and removing its top in short order. He took a sizeable gulp of the canteen’s contents and, after pulling the container away from his surprisingly dry lips, he corked the canteen and allowed his cloak to envelop it once more.
With a ragged sigh, the man continued on his way. He knew what he must do.
***
Elsewhere in Orre, where the winds blew more softly, a city stood its ground against the desert sands with its man-made oasis. Dozens upon dozens called Phenac City home, from the elderly who basked in the glow of pristine white buildings to the young who frolicked in the city’s elaborate central fountain. But, no matter who they were, every human citizen had a wondrous creature by their side.
A Pokémon.
These creatures, in possession of extraordinary powers and frequently keen intelligence, often lived in the wild until certain humans stumbled across them. These humans—dubbed “Pokémon trainers”—used the red-and-white spheres known as Poké Balls to capture wild Pokémon, forming bonds of friendship with them over time. What Pokémon and trainer did together after that was entirely up to them: some battled other trainers in competitions of skill and strategy, others used Pokémon talents to create inventive displays before a fascinated audience, and still others simply lived with Pokémon as partners. Whatever a human’s plans for their partner Pokémon turned out to be, he or she could legally become a Pokémon trainer upon reaching age ten, a highly anticipated time for all.
So much so, in fact, that it was odd for someone of that age range to not have a Pokémon.
On the outskirts of town, a young boy of about twelve or thirteen silently sat at a lonely bus stop. Though Phenac’s general atmosphere boasted positivity, this boy held a rather gloomy air about him. His body was covered in an orange hoodie, which—based on the price tag that was still attached—appeared to have been purchased mere moments ago. What was visible of the boy’s clothes beneath the hoodie seemed to be a patchwork of differently-colored fabrics, seemingly stitched together by a sewing amateur. Even the boy’s pants, something at least intended to be a pair of jeans, had been assembled in a similarly hodge-podge manner
The boy said nothing as his cold blue eyes stared at the surprisingly stylish leather wallet in his lap, carefully counting his Pokédollars before sliding them back into their home. Once the wallet was out of sight in his pocket, he leaned his head back and turned his distant gaze up to Orre’s vibrant blue sky. A few sparse clouds rolled overhead, and the boy picked out shapes in them for the next few agonizingly slow minutes.
The hum of an engine drew his attention to an approaching bus, dust kicking up behind its wheels. The boy sighed with what seemed to be relief, hefting a burlap sack across his shoulder and standing up.
Finally, he thought. Time to get this show on the road.
The bus rolled to a stop beside him, the doors opening with a hiss. The boy stepped inside, pulling back his hood to reveal long black hair, slicked back with three streaks of color running through it: blue on the right, orange in the middle, green on the left. He quietly approached the driver and opened his wallet.
“Morning, kid!” the driver gave him a friendly nod. “Where you headed to?”
“Professor Krane’s lab,” the boy replied simply, retrieving the appropriate amount of Pokédollars from his wallet and sliding them into the bus’ collection box.
“Ah, starting your first journey, are we?” the driver beamed.
The boy managed a small smile in return. “Yeah. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Well, just find yourself a seat and we’ll get you—”
“DERAK MAGNUS KADIR!”
The boy paled as the booming, furious voice reached his ears. His gaze whipped over his shoulder to spot a dark-haired man in a business suit storming up to the bus stop as quickly as he could manage. Derak winced before opening his wallet and dumping the entirety of its contents into the collection box.
“Please, take everything I have, just shut the door and step on it!”
The driver took the hint, hurriedly pulling a lever and sealing the door before his foot slammed into the gas pedal. By the time Derak’s pursuer reached the bus stop, only a cloud of dust remained where the bus had once been. The bus—and the boy—were long gone.
The man bared his teeth in a snarl, stamping his foot into the sand. “Stupid, ungrateful child!”
***
About an hour later, the bus rolled up to a very different part of Orre. Gone was the desert surrounding Phenac City; in its place was a sprawling garden of lush bushes and towering trees, all surrounding a silver building that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a futuristic metropolis. Something resembling a Poké Ball was mounted on top of the building, split into segments that appeared to float independently from one another yet remained in a spherical shape. Derak cracked a small smile, taking in the sights of this place he had never been allowed to even look at before today.
“Trouble with your old man, kid? He sounded like a real winner.”
The driver’s casual question shook Derak from his state of wonder, a bitter frown crossing the boy’s lips. Being the bus’ sole passenger seemed to be a double-edged sword.
“…like you wouldn’t believe,” he replied flatly, turning his gaze back to the window. The driver appeared to take the hint, conducting the rest of the ride in silence.
At long last, the bus halted in its tracks, and the doors spread open once more. Derak stood up, slinging his sack over his shoulder as he made for the door. He uttered a “thanks” to the driver but did not stop for conversation, almost bounding out the door and onto the grassy path leading up to the laboratory. He took a deep breath, excitement invigorating his heart.
This was it. After all these years, after all the delays…he was finally getting a partner.
Derak strode up to the lab, eyes darting about in search of some form of guidepost. After a few moments of investigation, he found one: a man in a white lab coat with a mop of brown hair. The task of trimming bushes currently held the man’s attention, however, forcing Derak to stop and frown. The amount of human interaction, he hoped, would be kept to a minimum, at least for now.
“Uh…excuse me? Sir?” Derak ventured, raising his free hand.
The man’s gaze turned to him, and he pushed up his spectacles with a kindly smile. “Hello, there! How can I help you?”
“Well, I’m looking for Professor Krane,” Derak shrugged. “I’d like to pick up a starter Pokémon.”
The man’s smile faded slightly as he put a hand to his chin.
“Hmm…I do happen to be the person you’re looking for,” Krane answered. “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to recall any starting Pokémon being scheduled for distribution today. May I have your name?”
The aspiring young trainer winced slightly. “…Derak.”
Krane blinked. “Derak? As in Derak Kadir, son of—”
Derak cut him off with a heavy, irritated sigh.
“Yes, Professor. The same son of everyone’s favorite Pokémon-hating business jerk,” he said. “Can I have a Pokémon, please? I’d really like to get a journey started soon.”
“Well…I’d love to, but there’s a bit of an issue here,” Krane frowned. “You see, from what I know of your father, I can’t particularly imagine him as someone willing to let you have a journey. What did you do to convince him?”
Derak pursed his lips for a moment before speaking. “…he came around.”
The professor paused. He set his trimming tools aside before looking to Derak, sliding his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.
“…I see,” Krane said. “Well…I must admit, this is a bit of a difficult situation—”
Derak’s grip on his sack tightened.
“Professor, please!” Derak interrupted. Krane’s eyes widened slightly at the desperation peppered throughout Derak’s voice. “I can’t go back there. I can’t. I want to choose how I live my life and not be treated like dirt for it. I need a Pokémon. I need to get out of Orre. So…” he sighed. “Please, just…look the other way. Just this once.”
Krane paused for a moment…and then smiled.
“Don’t worry,” the professor said, putting a reassuring hand on Derak’s shoulder. “You’re old enough to make this choice, parental permission or no. We’ll get you your Pokémon.”
A sigh of relief escaped Derak’s lips, his grip on his sack relaxing. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, Professor.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Krane smiled. “Now, if you’ll follow me.”
The professor led Derak into the laboratory, through the sliding glass doors and past all manner of white-coated scientists and jumpsuit-wearing Pokémon trainers. Derak took an excited breath in through his nose, doing his level best to maintain his composure. The time had finally come.
Just outside, however, the cloaked traveler from the desert found his worn feet on the path to the HQ Lab. His hood lifted just enough to reveal two golden irises, both of which narrowed darkly.
***
I'm someone who's been on-and-off of Serebii for some years now (lately more "off" than "on" due to a variety of factors), but mostly stuck to the fanfic section. Had good times, had times in which I made a fool of myself, made a few friends, and wrote many fics of middling quality. One of those--which I wrote, rewrote, posted, and reposted several times without ever actually finishing it any of those times--was my attempt at a journey fic: Proving Grounds.
Given my usual lack of activity, I don't imagine I'll be calling Serebii home much longer; moving on to greener pastures and so on. But after all the effort I put into the planning and execution of Proving Grounds, I don't really feel good about leaving it unfinished, regardless of how big or small its audience was. So, as my last fanfic contribution to Serebii, I figure I might as well give old Proving Grounds one last try. Given the size of this project (journey fics tend to be loooooooooong projects), any feedback on how to make it its best will be greatly appreciated.
So, now that I've rambled on enough, let's actually get to the preview.
Proving Grounds
The desert winds howled on.
One after another, two feet wrapped in well-worn shoes trudged across the sands of the Orre region. Their owner’s body at large was shrouded in a cloak of regal crimson, lined with gold trimming and sporting a hood to shield his face from the burning sun. The figure reached one hand into the folds of his cloak, pulling out a faded brown canteen and removing its top in short order. He took a sizeable gulp of the canteen’s contents and, after pulling the container away from his surprisingly dry lips, he corked the canteen and allowed his cloak to envelop it once more.
With a ragged sigh, the man continued on his way. He knew what he must do.
***
Elsewhere in Orre, where the winds blew more softly, a city stood its ground against the desert sands with its man-made oasis. Dozens upon dozens called Phenac City home, from the elderly who basked in the glow of pristine white buildings to the young who frolicked in the city’s elaborate central fountain. But, no matter who they were, every human citizen had a wondrous creature by their side.
A Pokémon.
These creatures, in possession of extraordinary powers and frequently keen intelligence, often lived in the wild until certain humans stumbled across them. These humans—dubbed “Pokémon trainers”—used the red-and-white spheres known as Poké Balls to capture wild Pokémon, forming bonds of friendship with them over time. What Pokémon and trainer did together after that was entirely up to them: some battled other trainers in competitions of skill and strategy, others used Pokémon talents to create inventive displays before a fascinated audience, and still others simply lived with Pokémon as partners. Whatever a human’s plans for their partner Pokémon turned out to be, he or she could legally become a Pokémon trainer upon reaching age ten, a highly anticipated time for all.
So much so, in fact, that it was odd for someone of that age range to not have a Pokémon.
On the outskirts of town, a young boy of about twelve or thirteen silently sat at a lonely bus stop. Though Phenac’s general atmosphere boasted positivity, this boy held a rather gloomy air about him. His body was covered in an orange hoodie, which—based on the price tag that was still attached—appeared to have been purchased mere moments ago. What was visible of the boy’s clothes beneath the hoodie seemed to be a patchwork of differently-colored fabrics, seemingly stitched together by a sewing amateur. Even the boy’s pants, something at least intended to be a pair of jeans, had been assembled in a similarly hodge-podge manner
The boy said nothing as his cold blue eyes stared at the surprisingly stylish leather wallet in his lap, carefully counting his Pokédollars before sliding them back into their home. Once the wallet was out of sight in his pocket, he leaned his head back and turned his distant gaze up to Orre’s vibrant blue sky. A few sparse clouds rolled overhead, and the boy picked out shapes in them for the next few agonizingly slow minutes.
The hum of an engine drew his attention to an approaching bus, dust kicking up behind its wheels. The boy sighed with what seemed to be relief, hefting a burlap sack across his shoulder and standing up.
Finally, he thought. Time to get this show on the road.
The bus rolled to a stop beside him, the doors opening with a hiss. The boy stepped inside, pulling back his hood to reveal long black hair, slicked back with three streaks of color running through it: blue on the right, orange in the middle, green on the left. He quietly approached the driver and opened his wallet.
“Morning, kid!” the driver gave him a friendly nod. “Where you headed to?”
“Professor Krane’s lab,” the boy replied simply, retrieving the appropriate amount of Pokédollars from his wallet and sliding them into the bus’ collection box.
“Ah, starting your first journey, are we?” the driver beamed.
The boy managed a small smile in return. “Yeah. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Well, just find yourself a seat and we’ll get you—”
“DERAK MAGNUS KADIR!”
The boy paled as the booming, furious voice reached his ears. His gaze whipped over his shoulder to spot a dark-haired man in a business suit storming up to the bus stop as quickly as he could manage. Derak winced before opening his wallet and dumping the entirety of its contents into the collection box.
“Please, take everything I have, just shut the door and step on it!”
The driver took the hint, hurriedly pulling a lever and sealing the door before his foot slammed into the gas pedal. By the time Derak’s pursuer reached the bus stop, only a cloud of dust remained where the bus had once been. The bus—and the boy—were long gone.
The man bared his teeth in a snarl, stamping his foot into the sand. “Stupid, ungrateful child!”
***
About an hour later, the bus rolled up to a very different part of Orre. Gone was the desert surrounding Phenac City; in its place was a sprawling garden of lush bushes and towering trees, all surrounding a silver building that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a futuristic metropolis. Something resembling a Poké Ball was mounted on top of the building, split into segments that appeared to float independently from one another yet remained in a spherical shape. Derak cracked a small smile, taking in the sights of this place he had never been allowed to even look at before today.
“Trouble with your old man, kid? He sounded like a real winner.”
The driver’s casual question shook Derak from his state of wonder, a bitter frown crossing the boy’s lips. Being the bus’ sole passenger seemed to be a double-edged sword.
“…like you wouldn’t believe,” he replied flatly, turning his gaze back to the window. The driver appeared to take the hint, conducting the rest of the ride in silence.
At long last, the bus halted in its tracks, and the doors spread open once more. Derak stood up, slinging his sack over his shoulder as he made for the door. He uttered a “thanks” to the driver but did not stop for conversation, almost bounding out the door and onto the grassy path leading up to the laboratory. He took a deep breath, excitement invigorating his heart.
This was it. After all these years, after all the delays…he was finally getting a partner.
Derak strode up to the lab, eyes darting about in search of some form of guidepost. After a few moments of investigation, he found one: a man in a white lab coat with a mop of brown hair. The task of trimming bushes currently held the man’s attention, however, forcing Derak to stop and frown. The amount of human interaction, he hoped, would be kept to a minimum, at least for now.
“Uh…excuse me? Sir?” Derak ventured, raising his free hand.
The man’s gaze turned to him, and he pushed up his spectacles with a kindly smile. “Hello, there! How can I help you?”
“Well, I’m looking for Professor Krane,” Derak shrugged. “I’d like to pick up a starter Pokémon.”
The man’s smile faded slightly as he put a hand to his chin.
“Hmm…I do happen to be the person you’re looking for,” Krane answered. “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to recall any starting Pokémon being scheduled for distribution today. May I have your name?”
The aspiring young trainer winced slightly. “…Derak.”
Krane blinked. “Derak? As in Derak Kadir, son of—”
Derak cut him off with a heavy, irritated sigh.
“Yes, Professor. The same son of everyone’s favorite Pokémon-hating business jerk,” he said. “Can I have a Pokémon, please? I’d really like to get a journey started soon.”
“Well…I’d love to, but there’s a bit of an issue here,” Krane frowned. “You see, from what I know of your father, I can’t particularly imagine him as someone willing to let you have a journey. What did you do to convince him?”
Derak pursed his lips for a moment before speaking. “…he came around.”
The professor paused. He set his trimming tools aside before looking to Derak, sliding his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.
“…I see,” Krane said. “Well…I must admit, this is a bit of a difficult situation—”
Derak’s grip on his sack tightened.
“Professor, please!” Derak interrupted. Krane’s eyes widened slightly at the desperation peppered throughout Derak’s voice. “I can’t go back there. I can’t. I want to choose how I live my life and not be treated like dirt for it. I need a Pokémon. I need to get out of Orre. So…” he sighed. “Please, just…look the other way. Just this once.”
Krane paused for a moment…and then smiled.
“Don’t worry,” the professor said, putting a reassuring hand on Derak’s shoulder. “You’re old enough to make this choice, parental permission or no. We’ll get you your Pokémon.”
A sigh of relief escaped Derak’s lips, his grip on his sack relaxing. “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much, Professor.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Krane smiled. “Now, if you’ll follow me.”
The professor led Derak into the laboratory, through the sliding glass doors and past all manner of white-coated scientists and jumpsuit-wearing Pokémon trainers. Derak took an excited breath in through his nose, doing his level best to maintain his composure. The time had finally come.
Just outside, however, the cloaked traveler from the desert found his worn feet on the path to the HQ Lab. His hood lifted just enough to reveal two golden irises, both of which narrowed darkly.
***
