Shoe (Let's rate this PG-13, man)

[Raunchy_fad]

PG-13 for drug references and stuff, and naughty language in later chapters.

Okay, folks! My first chapter of my first Pokémon fanfiction posted first of SPPF and no where else, my friends! Today is a good day to be me, because, as posted some time before, my scanner's broken, and if I can't get critique on my drawings, then I'll have to get it some other way. So here is my masterpiece "Shoe", everybody, so get excited, get some popcorn, and please, do give good healthy critisism!

Enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it, folks!

CHAPTER 1​

Common: com·mon adj
1. often occurring or frequently seen
2. used by ordinary people who have no specialist knowledge
3. without special privilege, rank, or status
4. of the standard that most people expect

Shoe closed the dictionary, a frown curling on her face. No matter how much she tried to look, to seem different from everyone else, she was still exactly the same as they were. Even with her hair grown down to her thighs, perverse personality and her uncanny nickname, she couldn’t separate herself from the thousands of other people just like her. She couldn’t separate herself from the traveling groups and their large blue MountVenture brand tents, from their knapsacks filled with super-potions and vitamin supplements, and from their six member team of low-level, just-starting-the-journey Pokémon.

Shoe’s team wasn’t even all that exciting or interesting, as it starts with two of the most domesticated Pokémon you could find in the Kanto, Johto or Hoenn Regions, a sleepy meowth and a gentle, easy-going growlithe that can be found in any pet store. The rest of her team wasn’t much to boast about either, seeing as not one of them had been trained to the point of evolving. It consisted of a wooper that she had found wallowing in the mud near a pond near Lilycove city while she was on a vacation in the area, a hoothoot that was found minding his own business when a PokéBall had knocked him between the eyes, a magnemite that was found draining a fuse box at the side of a townhouse on a dry day, and finally a sassy shuppet, Shoe’s first ever Pokémon that had been hiding stealthily in her room a year back pretending to be one of her many stuffed toys.

If anything, Shoe’s team was easy. Unlike the trainers that try their hardest to get extreme Pokémon like absol or dratini, Shoe was happy with the boring selection she had, and didn’t worry about going to her limits to find rare exotica. She was also happy that she wasn’t like one of those corrupt-minded trainers whose only goal would be so seek out, find and catch every legendary Pokémon that ever existed. Everyone sees at least one legend during their lifetime whether it be real or just a subject of hallucinogenic drugs. At least, that’s what Shoe strongly believes.

She put the dictionary back into her bag and went into her tent, getting ready for a long, sleepless night atop a deflated air mattress. She hated air mattresses, and couldn’t wait till she got to the next Pokémon Center. And due to carelessness and wet weather, she had to use Sambo, her growlithe, as a lumpy substitute of a pillow. On the bright side, Shoe’s pokemon were seldom in their PokéBalls, so for an uncomfortable tent filled with antsy, moving creatures it was seldom cold, especially when Rude, Shoe’s magnemite, freaks out in the middle of the night and releases large amounts of electric discharge which on several occasions has nearly burned down the tent. Luckily this hasn’t happened for a few weeks now, and Shoe has safely made it through many of the past nights.

In the morning Shoe lit a fire with help from Sambo’s embers and fodder supplied from the useless pages from the back of her dictionary (the ones with the weird symbols and upside-down e’s), and cooked herself a hearty meal of freeze-dried mashed potatoes. Shoe ate them drudgingly, not really wanting anything to eat, but knew that if she didn’t eat she’d get tired early and not get any closer to a Pokémon-friendly inn. Even after only an hour of packing up and another thirty minutes of trying to keep her Pokémon from running away from their PokéBalls, she already felt as if she had wasted days she could have used to get closer to Cerulean City. How unfortunate as well that she had to bear with the dreadful maze of Mount Moon just three days before. Oh, what she would give for train tickets.

Even more important, what she would give for a companion! Though she had six Pokémon with her at all times, she wished that she would have some sort of human contact other than the several money-crazed trainers that harass her ever so often. Even though Shoe was in search of some cash herself, she hated it when people would come in search of a stylish cockfight and be willing to put their Pokémon’s health at stake for a few extra bucks. So is the everyday life of a trainer. Shoe had to admit, she was thankful that she didn’t have the long, tedious job of a Pokémon breeder, even if she did like watching a Pokémon’s natural desires for kicks. Who knows? Maybe she would’ve turned out better as an accountant or stockbroker.

Upon hearing the first signs of a possible highway, Shoe knew that it would be only a few more hours of hiking until she reached Cerulean, and maybe even less if she could get to the highway in time and hitch a ride. She also noticed the gray clouds swarming above her, and prayed that they would pass and drop their rain somewhere else. Of course, Shoe’s luck isn’t that good, and it immediately began to pour after several minutes. It didn’t help that in her gargantuan knapsack that there wasn’t any sort of umbrella, either. Not knowing what else to do, she took her shuppet’s PokéBall off her belt and threw it on the ground, releasing him.

“Okay, Mojo, m’boy,” she said nervously, being weary of the big sloppy lick in the face he often gave her. “Make yourself useful—” she was cut off by Mojo’s long, pink tongue which promptly made its way across her cheeks, soaking her entire face. She let out a loud moan, then continued her sentence. “Make yourself useful and act as a nice little parasol for me, man. I’m sure you of all people wouldn’t mind getting wet.”

Mojo grinned then floated up above her head, spreading out to cover it. The grin stayed plastered on his face until he heard several coarse swears come from below him. Turns out that since Mojo was a ghost, the rainwater went right through him, therefore he made a very poor umbrella. Shoe yelled at him to become solid so the rain wouldn’t go through, but contrary to what she originally thought, Mojo had no desire do get as soaked as Shoe thought he would. Nevertheless, the shuppet was put back into his PokéBall.

Being so frustrated with the little ghost, Shoe didn’t realize how extremely close she was to the highway. The sounds of the cars passing now was almost deafening, and she finally opened her eyes to see her beloved friend concrete dressed by its complementary item, the automobile. She quickly ran up to the gravel on the sides, walked a few more paces and stuck out her thumb, hoping that someone nice would take her out of the rain and drive her ten minutes into the city. Though this wasn’t the safest possible plan, it was a lot more convenient than hiking another two and a half hours just to get to the outskirts. To her bewilderment, after an hour and a half of slow walking and her thumb up in the air as if to say “A-OKAY!” to whoever would decide to pick her up, no one had stopped and Shoe sat at the side of the road, sad, defeated, and wetter than she had ever been before.

Not knowing what else to do, she once again let Mojo out of his PokéBall and pleaded for him to cover her from the rain, but all he did was playfully lick her face. She grabbed him by the horn on his head and attempted to scold him, but her lip trembled and she could only start weeping as she held him in her arms for some form of comfort. She sat there for some time in the mud, then finally decided to suck up her emotions, and drudged along the road hoping that shortly before the sun goes down, she’ll see the see the road sign that announces that she has finally made it to her beloved destination. Unfortunate for her, this was not so, and she found herself jumping up and down at the side of the road, screaming and cursing, her thumb pointing up on her right hand, and her middle finger pointing even higher on the left. A few more seconds of this behaviour, and she finally lowered her head and under her breath, muttered, “Ah, screw it.”

She eventually made it to Cerulean later that night and eagerly headed to the nearest Pokémon Center.

 

[PDL]

Nice story.

I really mean it this time, few fics have this sort of satire in it, or at least the ones I've read.

Everyone sees at least one legend during their lifetime whether it be real or just a subject of hallucinogenic drugs. At least, that’s what Shoe strongly believes.

easily the best sentence in the chapter. Not because of the drug bit (though it does add to it) but it makes fun of how nearly everyone (at least within pokemon fanfiction, character or author) treats legendaries like supreme deities.

I await the next chapter.

EDIT: why "Shoe" though? metaphorical reasons?

 

[Raunchy_fad]

Oh, why thanks, man. I'm glad you like it, people like you give me a reason to keep writing.

And there's not really any reason why she's called Shoe. To tell you the truth, I just thought it sounded neat. I'm real simple that way, I don't really put much thought or meaning into things like names, but I think that a weird name like Shoe really suits her. There's a dumb reason why the story's called Shoe, too. Basically I never had a title for it, so I just took the character's name, ya know? And to tell you the truth, I don't even have enough plans for the story to have a proper title. I'm not even sure what the plot is, or where it's going to go. I'll find out in time.

And just be sure you'll be waiting very long for the next chapter to come out, and for taht I'm very sorry. I get along with stories very slowly, unbearably slowly, really. Don't get your hopes too high, 'kay?

 

[Hahahabvc87]

Oh man, the phantom of the monostar has struck again!
It seems like the first few fics on the list all got one unfair one-star vote..

This is pretty good for the first chapter. Not many people choose to write stories of ordinary trainers, yet you seem to be able to make yours exciting in a way even though the character is somewhat "normal".

Unfortunate for her, this was not so, and she found herself jumping up and down at the side of the road, screaming and cursing, her thumb pointing up on her right hand, and her middle finger pointing even higher on the left.

Lol. Desperate times call for desperate measures, eh?

Good job on your debut here Hopefully you can find the time to update this story regularly!

 

[Raunchy_fad]

WHOOOAAA!!! The thread's not a month old yet! I'm one lucky bum. Here's Chapter 2 for all you guys who were waiting, and I hope you like it, and everything. Who knows when chapter three's gonna be up, I mean, I haven't even started it yet. Anyways, tell me what you think, and PLEASE enjoy.
Edit: What the deuce? There's languange filters for fanfictions? Jeez, man.

CHAPTER 2​

Upon entering the city, Shoe let out her whole team, weary of muggers, thugs and bums. Sure, the rain had let up, but knowing her luck so far, by the time she got to any sort of hotel she’ll lose half her money, half her supplies, and half her mind. Cerulean wasn’t like Celadon or Goldenrod, always busy all the time. At night, it could be very dangerous. Lucky for her, she made it to a Pokémon Center without any trouble, and gleefully went to the door, extremely excited that tonight she’ll have a bed to sleep in. She entered, a giant grin plastered on her face as she went up to the counter, displaying her belt of PokéBalls to the chubby woman at the front desk.

“Heal ‘em up!” She declared, smiling foolishly at the lady. She then put her hand into her back pocket and pulled out her trainer card, happy as ever that not only would she be getting a room, but a trainer’s discount, too. “I want a room, too, please. It’s been nearly ten days since I’ve last showered, and I’m sure you hear this kind of thing all the time from people like me, but I’m just SO happy that I’m gonna have somewhere nice to sleep, ya know?” She continued to ramble on about things like how hard it was to sleep in her tent, how it smelled bad, how lonely she was and how relieved she was to be in the city again, and was rambling so much that she didn’t realize what the woman was trying to tell her after her pokémon had been healed in the machine behind her. After a few minutes of trying to get Shoe’s attention, she finally managed to speak up.

“We’re full.”

Shoe immediately stopped talking, and looked at the woman, the smile still on her face. “What?”

The woman closed her eyes and said, “We’re full. The third and fourth floors are being renovated, and there are no rooms left. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go to out sister center across town.” Shoe looked at her, shocked. Her eyes started to water, but she kept smiling. She snatched her belt from the front desk, uttered a feeble “Thank you” then turned and smiled all the way out of the Pokémon Center, tears streaming down her reddened face. When she got outside, she looked up at the sky and noticed that it was beginning to dribble. This caused extreme cursing; cursing at the renovations, at the rain, at the world.

Not knowing what else to do, Shoe stationed herself in a nearby park, carefully setting up her tent so that rainwater didn’t get in. If it was illegal to camp in this park, she didn’t have to worry, because if she was arrested, she knew that she would at least get a hard cot in a jail cell, not to mention a shower. She doubted anything wonderful like that would happen, so she laid back in her tent and knowing she wouldn’t get to sleep tonight, released Mooshoo, her meowth. She picked her up and put her on her lap, stroked her head and whispered “Kitty kitty kitty” until Mooshoo started purring and flopped down contently. Shoe also let out Sambo; she needed something to lay her head on.

Just when Shoe had zoned out to the point near sleeping, she was blinded by a bright flash, and deafened by Sambo’s wild barking and Mooshoo’s screeching hiss. Shoe screamed as well, looked around wildly, then calmed down. As soon as the floaters caused by the flash disappeared they soon reappeared as another flash took place, this time notably followed by a buzzing sound. Disgruntled, Shoe muttered a soft, “What the deuce?!” then opened the tent door flap to check where this annoyance was coming from. At first she didn’t see anything, but eventually saw a small figure in the distance half-hidden by the sheet of rain. It was waving something around. Curious, she stepped out of her tent and beckoned Sambo and Mooshoo to come with her. They didn’t follow, not wanting to get wet, so Shoe let out Ozzy knowing that the wooper hadn’t been fully wet in a long while.

She tiptoed close to the figure and stationed behind a tree. She bent down and faced Ozzy and told her to sneak over there and ambush whatever had “flashed” her. The wooper did as she was told and waddled stealthily towards the foe, then hopped and turned around, attempting to slam it with her tail. Her plain face filled with shock as her thick tail had hit nothing but the muddy ground. She cocked her head and waddled a bit further and slammed her tail again, once again hitting nothing but muddy grass.

“Ozzy!” Shoe called. She raised her hand and twirled it, signaling that the wooper should turn around. Ozzy did turn and was face to face with a camera which blinded her seconds later. Angry, she squinted then shot water from her mouth, and was doubly surprised when she didn’t hit what she knew was just there fractions of a second ago. Not knowing what else to do, she started spinning and shooting water from her mouth until she became too dizzy to stand, and shamefully fell on her back.

Another flash, another buzz, and the image of an abra holding a photograph in its hand. The abra shook it and smiled at the eventual picture that developed, took one more picture of the defeated Ozzy, and disappeared.

Shoe approached her wooper and had her return to her PokéBall. She was about to go back to her tent, but noticed that there was a photo discarded on the ground. She bent over and picked it up, and smiled. It was a Polaroid, and a rather unflattering one, at that. She wondered where the abra may have gotten such a camera, or even if anyone used them anymore. She actually quite liked the idea. But then she remembered that some more unflattering pictures of her half-asleep had been taken of her in the tent. Just her luck. She shrugged it off and returned to her canvas home and fell asleep, almost instantly forgetting about the abra and its camera. However, she soon was forced to remember about it once Sambo started barking again. She jumped up in surprise and right in front of her saw the abra rummaging through her bag. She yelled at it and it disappeared for a moment, then reappeared right on top of her. She squealed and pushed it off then yelled at Sambo to take it down, and for Mooshoo to scratch its eyes out. The abra disappeared again and the meowth and growlithe managed to tear a mighty fine hole in the tent wall.

“What the F*CK do you want!?” she screeched, afterwards moaning at the giant rip in her tent. Now water was going to get in, and once it got in, even after the tent is folded and put away, it’s a bit*h to get out. The abra came back once again, this time waving a picture around. Shoe looked at it and saw that it was a picture of Ozzy flipping in the air. The photo was really impressive, but when Shoe finally figured out that the abra wanted to trade it for the sl*tty-looking picture of herself that she had found on the ground, she immediately declined, put the picture in her back jeans pocket and sat down, knowing that no one would dare try to get it there. She smiled and leaned back against Sambo and waved her hand at the abra, dismissing it. It looked at her, frowned, then disappeared. Shoe waited, knowing that she’d see it again, but fell asleep without the abra ever returning.

Well, at least until morning came.

 

[Growlithe]

Hah, I like this story. ^^ Most of the 'trainer' fictions have the same plotline, a boy going to Prof. Oak's office, geting his first pokemon, making a rival, winning the first battle, yadda yadda. But in this one, you just...I dunno. It has an extreme taste of originality, and that's what I like about it.

It's just...very original. I've never seen anything like it, and I will continue to follow this story. Congrats!

 

[Raunchy_fad]

ARE YOU GUYS KIDDING ME!? 4 months and chapter three is finally up! I dunno how many of you guys are reading my fic, but man am I ever psyched for comments. This took me so long and I am sooo sorry, but please you guys, enjoy it!

CHAPTER 3​

Shoe awoke the next morning to the sounds of happy park taillows, the loud yet relaxing noise that ninjasks made on the hottest of days, and to the sound of something pounding on the door-flap of her tent. She groggily got up from the tent floor (Sambo had failed as her pillow and moved down by her feet) rubbed her eyes, stretched her shoulders, and opened the flap to find an unpleasant surprise.

“NnnnnnuuuuuAAH!” Shoe looked up and squealed at the sight of the angriest-looking nuzleaf she had ever seen, and squealed even harder when it had jumped on her and had taken her by her shirt collar and started waving its fist in her face. Not knowing what else to do, she kicked it only to get her head pounded in, which formed quite an impressive goose egg. She rubbed her head, and quickly as she could, reached for her belt and released Bogey, her absent-minded hoothoot. Bogey tilted from left to right, then happily fluttered onto Shoe’s head, oblivious to the fuming nuzleaf. Still kicking, Shoe grabbed Bogey, had him face the nuzleaf, then furiously told him to peck its eyes out, similar to the order she had given Mooshoo the night before. Bogey gave it a try, but was knocked to the corner of the tent by the nuzleaf’s raging fist. This is when she had to resort to real violence and kicked Sambo up. “Sick him, SICK him!” A trained guard dog, Sambo swiftly took the nuzleaf by the neck and pulled it outside, pinned it down and choked up some embers, ready to spew them in the now screeching nuzleaf’s face.

“Rocky, get back!” Without any warning, the nuzleaf disappeared in a beam of red light, and Sambo ended up singing his toes with his own firepower. Shoe crawled out of her tent, shaken, and looked over at who had called the nuzleaf back into its PokéBall. Who she saw was a young man, tall, skinny, sporting a tye-dye shirt and heavily patched blue jeans. On his feet were Berkinstocks, not unlike the ones Shoe had some years ago. He had a nice face from what Shoe could see under the stubble, long shaggy hair and round glasses. Not that this mattered now, seeing as once she looked down his hippie-like body she saw the abra that was harassing her the night before sitting happily at his feet. She got up and stumbled, groggy from the night before, then came face-to-face with him, ready to give him a piece of her mind.

“You’re low,” she said, staring him in the eye, bringing her face as close as she could to his without the two touching. “Too low, you know that? What the deuce were you smoking last night, man? Are you HIGH right now? I think so ‘cos you don’t have any control, that leaf-headed pygmy-GNOME of yours-”

“Not now, I’m not,” the man smiled, and raised his hand in a peace-sign fashion. “But don’t be mad at Rocky, man, my little ganja baby’s gotten into some bad sh*t.”

Shoe stared at him then cupped her eyes with her hand then bowed her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said softly. She then changed the subject to the abra that was, as she put it, “shamefully squatting” down by his feet. “That thing’s a pervert!” She took the photo out of her back pocket and showed it to him, frowning. “It kept me up all night snapping photos of me with my legs spread like a fatty skank!”

The boy smiled and and took the picture from her and shook his head. “But Diddy likes it! Besides, it’s not like you’re nude or anything,” he winked at her, bent over and passed the photo to his little companion who sat there grinning a perverse grin. He looked up at his hippie trainer and then back to Shoe, let out a soft “Aaabraa” then disappeared. Shoe stood there with her eyebrows raised and took the smelly hippie by the collar.

“You owe me a bed and a shower, Cheech.”

“Haha, my name’s not Cheech! You’re crazy, man,” he laughed and patted Shoe on the head. “My name’s Paul. Remember it, and baby, of course you can use my shower, it’s not like I ever get around to using it.” He turned away, chuckling, and sat on a park bench waiting patiently for Shoe to pack up her equipment. He started giggling even harder when he saw her struggling to get her Pokémon back into their PokéBalls as they walked around her feet and floated through the air and Rude, her magnemite, even managed to escape from its PokéBall and attach itself to a lamppost several yards away.

“You got to be more mellow!” he shouted, smiling and waving to her as Shoe ran over to wrench Rude from the pole. He went to her bag and rummaged through it and finally found a PokéBall that had Rude’s name etched into it. He walked up to her and put it in her hand and said: “Don’t screech at it, man. Just tell him to go back in and you’ll buy some batteries he can fool around with one time or another.”

Shoe just rolled her eyes and got Rude and the rest of her party back in the hard way , or very hard way, seeing as Shoe’s body strength wasn’t all she made it out to be. (Really you could snap her skinny arms like moldy chopsticks.) It took about an hour, and Mojo ended up staying out of his PokéBall because he just had to insist on clinging to the back of Shoe’s hair. She tried to shrug him off but ended up ignoring him because she found herself running hastily behind Paul who was already half-way out of the park. Once she finally caught up with him, she had totally cooled off, looked Paul in the eye and patted his head, smiling sweetly.

“Ass-face, you have really pretty hair.” She went ahead of him and faced him while walking backwards, minding the people behind her as she came upon the city street. “But where do you live? I have to get somewhere around Nugget Bridge, you see, that’s why I’m in Cerulean, but I don’t know the city very well.”

“You came to Cerulean and slept in a park just to see a bridge?” Paul asked, then came into a mild giggle fit. “Man, you’d need at LEAST a foot-long blunt for that bridge to be even remotely interesting.” He then started going on about blunts until Shoe stopped him by taking a flyer out of her jeans pocket. The ink was smudged from many days of bad weather, but it was still legible. Shoe read it aloud, just to get the point across and it said, “Paying high prices for valuable stones! Will pay 50% plus market price, Contact Professor Tree at Cerulean City, 1371 Viking Rd. near Nugget Bridge.” In the bottom right corner was a cute photograph of a slowpoke with a King’s Rock atop its head, yawning by a pool of water.

Even though it was read aloud, Paul snatched it from her and read it over a few more times. When he was done he let out a soft “Oh” and then brought out the bad news that they were going the wrong way and that his house was closer to Mount Moon than anything else. Not wanting Shoe to flip out again like she’d been doing until they left the park, he added, “But I have a car, so we can just go there tomorrow, man.”

About another forty minutes of chatting to Paul about his home and marijuana, they finally came to a well-kept home which was surprised Shoe since Paul was so filthy a young man. It was nice on the inside, too, with lots of earth tones, worn leather furniture, and original artwork on the walls. Paul showed her where the bathroom was and she look a long, hot shower, then made it down to the basement where Paul had set up a futon. Though right before she went to the basement, he said, “Oh, and don’t mind Mr. Pipes.”

Shoe wasn’t that sure who Mr. Pipes was, but after about a second of examining the basement covered in posters of rock bands, cannabis and psilocybin which matched Paul’s personality much better than the abstract artwork upstairs, she looked down by her futon and found out. She found Mr. Pipes, a husky magmar with shaggy hair much like Paul’s, sitting stoned on the floor with the tube of a hookah stuck in its mouth.

Lucky for Shoe, he nodded groovily and motioned a peace sign with his left paw when she asked him to keep Diddy the abra away. She felt really good; she wasn’t sure if it was the fumes from the hookah or the fact that she was in a safe place in a comfortable bed, she knew that she was going to finally get to Professor Tree the next day.

She fell asleep quickly, and when it happened Mojo escaped his PokéBall to go get high with Mr. Pipes.

 

[QuixoticSavior]

hahahaha, this is entertaining. i can't say i've read about pokemon getting high before and definitely an "original" trainer fic. i don't think you really care about reviews, you just like to know tha tpeople are reading... so, write on, my ganja buddy

 

[Draconis]

The last chapter gave me a good chuckle. I can just imagine that Magmar nodding, and replying with a smooth, calm, "Maaaag". Keep writing, and I'll keep reading.

 

[Omega Pirate]

I've been waiting forever for another Shoe chapter, it's the only fic I read. Anywhere.

There really isn't much to say, except you've done another hilarious job.

 

[DarkPersian479]

An OT fic without dreams of badge collection, hippie freaks, and perv Pokemon... This is certainly one of the most original piees I've read.

Glad to find out I'm not the only one who has a vision of these Pokemon regions being connected by Interstate-style highways. And like my own character (and me as a person) Shoe seems to hate the whole camping-out thing. Even as desperate as Shoe was for a place to stay, I'd be a bit leery of pot-smoking hippies.

Great story, a really entertaining read.

 

[Raunchy_fad]

Jeeeeeeeeeeeeezzzz! You guys are the COOLEST, and such wonderful motivation! Man, you'd better believe I'm gonna keep writing this, too. Just... expect it to take a while. ^^;;

Anyways, I love you guys! Gonna start chapter 4 now, thank you SO much... pish, pish.

 

[PDL]

This is actually very amusing, Shoe joining the crackhead clubhouse with Mr.Stoner. I can sense hilarious things happening.

Aside from a few grammatical errors, it's pretty good.

 

[Raunchy_fad]

Looks like chapter 4's up in only a month. Wow, exactly a month, too, aren't you guys proud of me? Hope you like it, and I hope people review. That's my FODDER!

CHAPTER 4​

Not only was Shoe’s head was throbbing when she woke up the next morning, but she had woke to find Diddy sitting at the end of her bed, camera in hand. She shrieked and tried to grab him, but he moved out of the way as always, smiled, then waved to her cheekily right before he disappeared for good, photos clasped in his hand.

What a load of sh*t to wake up to, she thought. Turns out the pot fumes had really gotten to her, too, and had made her mouth dry and eyes watery. It didn’t just get to her, either, as her whole pokémon party was on the floor, stoned as can be. It was actually rather frightening to look at. Sambo and Mooshoo were heaped on top of their splendid hoothoot friend, licking and chewing on his long ear feathers, and though this would normally have put Bogey into a pecking rage, thanks to the cannabis he didn’t seem to mind. Rude was stuck in the corner and after a moment when he finally managed to turn around, Shoe watched with great concern as every few seconds the pupil in his giant eye would expand to the size of a saucer only to contract to pea-size proportions split-seconds later. Then there was Ozzy… poor Ozzy. The wooper was sprawled out on the floor, her chest was rising and falling rapidly and her gills were curled up tightly alongside her head. Shoe had flipped out once she had noticed Ozzy’s shriveled body, then not knowing what else to do, took the wooper in her arms and rushed upstairs to draw a cool bath where her little companion would hopefully rehydrate and recuperate.

It was when Ozzy was fully immersed in the water when Shoe heard giggling from the room down the hall. She hesitated, not knowing if Ozzy was actually alright or not, then fled from the bathroom once the wooper hopped out of the tub and chirped a happy “Oopah!”.

She ran into the master bedroom and sure enough she found Paul and his pothead team, Mr. Pipes and Diddy, including three pokémon she hadn’t seen before, a psyduck, doduo and spinda, She had also noticed Rocky the nuzleaf sitting eyes wide open in front of a closet, twitching nervously. Mojo was there, too, but somehow Shoe wasn’t surprised.

Seeing Paul lying on Mr. Pipes’ lap and watching him, pupils dilated to outrageous sizes while he giggled uncontrollably made her absolutely furious, and she made this clear when she picked him up by the neck and started shaking him. However, this just made Paul giggle even wilder than he had been, and when he opened his mouth to ask why he was being shaken and strangled, he got the promptest of answers.

“YOU ALMOST KILLED MY WOOPER! YOU ASSH*LE YOU KILLED–” at that moment Ozzy waddled in through the door grinning a fishy grin, then went over to Shoe’s pant leg and pulled on it, hungry for her master’s attention. It took a moment, but Shoe got the best of herself and picked up her little companion and shoved her into Paul’s face. “Be happy she’s not dead!”

“It… it’s so ugly…” Paul frowned then reached out to touch her, then smiled when he felt she was slimy. He then wrenched her from Shoe’s hands and hugged her, a little too hard I might add, then dropped her when he noticed she had stopped breathing. This made him panic and react by throwing his psyduck at her, hoping that it would react with a water gun attack. And a water gun it did perform, although it was hardly as streamlined as it should have been and ended up being a shameful regurgitation of water that missed the wooper and landed messily on the carpet.

After another spasmodic moment with Shoe and quick bath for Ozzy, Paul finally had some stoner-sense knocked into him and suggested that they leave the house and head for Professor Tree. Upon leaving the house, Shoe was a tad thankful for Paul’s drugs as they had made her team docile and easy to get into their PokéBalls. Of course, this didn’t matter shortly after both Shoe and Paul’s teams were both sitting comfortably In the back of Paul’s bright green Volkswagen camper van. All but Rocky, of course, because Paul’s sweet little ganja baby went absolutely amok when she saw she was to sit in the same compartment as the growlithe that had tried to burn her leaf off. She got to sit in the front.

Happy to soon arrive at her destination, Shoe dozed off, holding the twitchy nuzleaf in her lap and totally unaware of Diddy who decided to sit by feet and look up her pant leg or of the doduo head that was absent mindedly chewing on her hair. Only when the van stopped did Shoe feel any concern, not because of the bothersome pokémon but of the scenery outside the vehicle. They weren’t in a suburban area by a house with a pond, they hadn’t passed a sign that read Viking Road and there was no way that Shoe could have sold her trinket for a good deal to some nutty professor because the sign that she did see by the parking lot she was in proudly read “Mt. Moon”.

“Oh, you’re awake!” Paul said happily, patting Shoe on the head. “Sorry man, I know you wanna see that Tree guy but it’s Monday, I gotta work!” He ended work with a slur and jumped out of the van, pulling Rocky with him. Shoe just sighed and proceeded to pound her head on the dashboard, it was bad enough that she was back in a place she had been stuck in for two days straight, and on top of that she had to babysit five extra pokémon, three of which were strangers, one that was sexually deranged, and well, Mr. Pipes didn’t actually bother her that much. He especially didn’t bother her when he tapped her shoulder and offered some pot. Now, normally Shoe would have declined the drug, but just once she thought “what the hell” and while still being responsible put Ozzy back into her PokéBall just before her mind was lost to the joint.

Meanwhile, Paul had entered a cellar door at a secluded section of the mountain, far from tourists and trainers alike. Gripping Rocky’s hand, he trudged down the steps, looking at the poorly lit walls and wondered why someone would go through so much work to bore a hole in a mountain that already had a huge cave in it to begin with. Of course, the reason for this was because of Paul’s top-secret job, though this didn’t ever care to pass his mind.

He kept stepping lower and lower until he finally made it to a door. Lucky for him he remembered his key this time and could open it with relative ease, minus the two minutes it took him to fit the key into the hole. He squinted when he opened the door like he always did. Even after three years of working his job he hadn’t gotten used to the brightly lit room that concluded the dim stairway. He blinked a few times and his eyes finally adjusted to reveal the familiar boxes stacked on steel shelves that emitted a smell that drove Rocky absolutely crazy. He blinked again and saw a short fat man, thirty and balding sitting in a lawn chair, idly flipping through the pages of a dirty magazine. On his lap was a diglett that was busy grooming its long claws. Noticing Paul, he lifted his head and revealed a grin of jagged, yellow teeth.

“Hey maaaaaan,” he said, curling his hand into a fist then opining it to wave with his fingers. The diglett looked up as well, but went back to grooming itself, uninterested.

“Screw off, Mole, where’s Johnny?”

The man dismissed the question by batting the air then looking back down into his magazine. He hated it when Paul called him Mole, even though most of his physical and behavioural characteristics matched the name perfectly. He decided he wouldn’t reply to Paul until he was addressed by his real name, Toby, but looked up and couldn’t notice that Paul had brought Rocky with him. “Oh, what’s this, Paul? You brought the girly today?” He smiled then followed by reaching out to touch her shaking hand.

It was Paul’s fist’s turn to clench as it wrapped around Toby’s shirt collar. “Screw you, man, don’t touch her!” Toby whimpered then grinned when his diglett took initiative and slashed Paul’s wrist, making him cuss loudly and pull back. He held his bleeding wrist for a moment then let go and angrily dug into his pocket and dug out a wad of cash. “Motherf*cker! Why the f*ck isn’t Johnny here, man? I should be paying him, not a f*cking Mole!” The wad of money dropped in Toby’s lap and Paul went to take one of the boxes off its shelf. While his back was turned, Toby started laughing, a harsh bellow coming from nicotine-stained lungs that was unusually high for a man of his size.

“Hee heee heeeee! You should put a shirt on her if you don’t want me to look!” At that moment, Paul turned around and gazed at Toby, into his small, beady eyes. He then looked at Rocky, at her boy’s body, her body that was firm and inhuman. Inhuman being the case word here. Creeped out, Paul took his box with his bleeding arm and Rocky with the other, then left the room, flabbergasted.

Before going up the long flight of stairs, Paul reconsidered for a moment that he should go back in there. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten about something he had wanted to do for a long time, something important. Hugging Rocky then making her wait outside, he went back in and approached Toby, clenched his fist and punched him square in the jaw. Paul heard a loud crack, and though this would have bothered him with anyone else, with Toby he felt quite satisfied.

“That’s for turning Rocky into a f*cking cokehead!”

 

[Growlithe]

Gawsh this fic rocks. <3