Warning: I don't know, but I'd feel weird if we didn't have a warning line in bold. Actually, it is a lot more curse-happy for some reason. Blame Kamon.
So HG/SS was released today (or something), so I decided to mix up the chapters and write the game-parody chapter instead of the shipping one.
“But, Bree, it doesn't work with the last hint in your last chapter!”
Psh. Crack doesn't need to make sense. Psh.
I also decided to tone down Kenta's personality. I'm an equal opportunist. All three characters are going to have their fair share of crazy.
Enjoy!
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They Call Me the POKéMON PROF!
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“Oh, hey, Marina. Did you know they're remaking the Gold and Silver games?”
“... How did you get the laptop again? I just had it in my lap.”
Kenta shrugged off the redhead's question as he continued to scroll down on the web browser he opened up on the laptop. “Yeah. They're calling them Soulsilver and Heartgold.”
“What kind of name is that?”
Kamon's questions went unheard again as Kenta waved it off, his eyes squinting at the screen. “Haa ... Marina. You're going to be mad.”
Marina sat on her knees and leaned across the redhead, much to his dismay. “Why?” she asked curiously as Kamon let out several huffs of breath, blowing the girl's blue hair away from his face. It was in vain, though, for Marina's thick locks swayed back into place right in his line of vision.
Kenta turned the laptop toward the girl, and Marina's eyes squinted a bit as she read the text on screen. Slowly, the boy scrolled down until a picture of two trainers appeared. The trainer on the left looked similarly to Kenta: backward yellow cap complete with his weird arch of black hair. He, too, had the same clothing on with the exception of his shorts being black instead of yellow. The girl on the right, although similar looking to Marina, was not Marina, her hair brown instead of blue and her clothing drastically different.
Now, Marina, not being the ... brightest color in the crayon box, immediately screamed. “What the hell!” she doth protested, shaking a fist. “That girl totally took my style! Not cool! Not cute!”
Kenta and Kamon looked at each other before Kenta muttered, “Yeah, since you noticed that this girl isn't you, obviously–”
“Obviously,” Marina interrupted, huffing and blowing up her bangs. She pulled away from the laptop and fell flat on her bottom, crossing her arms.
“Then put two and two together, Marina. If
this girl, who obviously isn't you, is in the game, then that must mean ...” He trailed off, watching the girl, preparing himself for the worst.
Marina merely blinked. “What?”
“My god, Marina. Are you always this slow?” Kamon rolled his eyes. “They booted you. You're not in the remakes.”
“But I wasn't in the original Gold and Silver anyway ...?” She scratched her head as Bunnytits hopped off Kenta's shoulder and onto her lap, purring as he/she/it cuddled against her stomach.
“That's not the point. You should be enraged.”
“But I wasn't in the–”
“Enraged, I said!” Kamon interrupted, eye twitching.
Marina's slender fingers made their way toward the back of Bunnytit's ear, scratching him/her/it there, making him/her/it purr louder, thumping a hybrid foot off whatever pokémon it came from against the bench. “Why?”
“I mean, think about it logically, Marina,” chimed in Kenta. “Us three,” he motioned toward himself, then Kamon, then finally the girl, “are the main characters of the original Gold, Silver, and Crystal. I, as Gold, the charming, handsome male protagonist,” at this, he adjusted the collar of his shirt, making his two companion groan, “Kamon, as Silver, the slightly emo, angsty, freaking-hates-the-world rival–”
“It wasn't emo. I was a very angry child is all,” the red-head defended himself.
“Uh huh. And you were the girl protagonist with the huge boobs. But now they replaced you with That Dutch Girl even though they had a perfectly good girl character with perfectly nice boobs.”
Kamon snorted as Marina glared at Kenta. “I resent that!” she exclaimed, raising her arms to cover her upper torso.
“You say it like it's a bad thing. Or like all the other girl protagonists didn't have huge racks or something.”
“Admittedly, May's were the hugest,” added Kamon.
“Oh, everyone knows that. Well, I do anyway. They toned down on Dawn's, though.”
“Yeah, but they gave her a short skirt. I mean, even when they revamped her for that winter suit, or whatever, her skirt was STILL short. It's all about proportion. If the girl doesn't have a huge rack, she's showing a lot leg. Like That Dutch Girl here.” Kamon gestured toward the glowing laptop screen. “Although she's wearing tube socks to hide leg, it's obvious that she has it. Like a tease.”
“Yes, yes,” replied Kenta, rubbing his chin as if the two boys were talking about something profound.
“I'm resenting it more now. Now you like That Dutch Girl more than me?” whined Marina, clutching Bunnytits to her ... chest. The hybrid squeaked at this.
“No one said that,” murmured Kenta, scrolling further down the browser.
“But you implied it!” she further screeched, pouting.
“How did I imply anything? Kamon is the one that's being perverted now.”
“Compared to what? You were the one that made that statue, gaped at said statue, named that ... that
thing Bunnytits–” Kamon paused as the eeveesquiramachu sneezed before snorting, turning around in Marina's lap, “– along with ... with that–”
“Boner scene!” Kenta answered cheerfully. “That, ahem, never happened.”
“Right.” Sighing, Kamon looked up toward the sky where winking stars filled the nighttime canvas. A cool breeze blew by, lifting his bangs from his forehead. He licked his cracked lips. “So update me, Kenta. When does this monstrosity come out anyway?”
“Soon,” the hat-wearing boy answered. A smirk rose to his lips. “Hey, they updated you, too.”
The red-head raised an eyebrow, still not ripping his eyes away from the sky. A hoothoot twittered in the trees. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Kenta answered again. “You know how your old picture had this smirking disposition that cried, 'Hey, I'm going to be an asshat to YOU' kind of thing? Like, all firm like? Like today's the day! Today I'm going to be a douchebag!”
“You know, I should probably smack you into next Tuesday for that, but continue.”
“Yeah. Your new one kind of has a–” Kenta looked up at from the screen, put a confused look on his face and shrugged, cocking his head to the side, his palms flat, “–'Eh, you know what? I guess I'll be an asshat today. For the lulz' feel to it. Like you're not sure if you want to be a douchebag. Like you're contemplating it. Not as aggressive, you know?” He dropped his arms, sighing like his rival next to him. “Good times.”
“Whatever.” Eyes trailing toward the side, Kamon remarked, “You're quiet,” to Marina.
Marina turned her head to the side, avoiding eye contact of the two boys next to her, squeezing Bunnytits tighter. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Just thinking is all.”
“Oh, come on, Marina. We're just kidding about the whole you not being in the new remakes thing.”
“Well, that really wasn't a joke. She really isn't,” said Kamon.
Kenta dropped the laptop into Kamon's lap, ignoring the glare that came with it. “I mean, why would you want to be in the remakes?” Kenta added, ignoring Kamon's statement. “Kamon looks like a pansy – yeah, like your pansy hits are going to actually hurt me now, pansy.” He smiled cheekily as Kamon socked him in the arm again. “And That Dutch Girl probably isn't that nice either. And she totally stole your look.”
The girl merely sniffled, bowing her head. “Y-you're ju-just saying t-that,” she stuttered in a cracked voice. She carefully placed a sleeping Bunnytits on the bench and wiped at eyes with her dainty hands.
Kenta stared at the back of her head. “Really. I'm not. You're much more uniquer than That Dutch Girl. It's obvious.”
Kamon looked back and forth between the worried, brown eyes of Kenta and the quivering form of Marina. “Oookay,” he dragged out in an exaggerated voice, “if you're going to take this moment to get into Marina's pants, Kenta, then I'd rather not be in the middle of it.” Kamon grabbed the laptop, closed it and quickly stood up, walking to the back of the bench and leaning against it.
Because of her loud sniffles, Marina didn't coherently hear Kamon, but Kenta did, who immediately snapped his head and glared at him.
“Be quiet,” he hissed, scooting a bit's away from Marina, his cheeks flushing light pink.
“Whatever.” The red-head rolled his eyes, gripping the closed laptop tight between rough fingertips. “So I've been thinking about our new story idea,” he said to change the subject. “Since you brought up the games, maybe we should write about them. I mean, it's not my favorite idea, but maybe if we start off with similar lines from the games then develop our own story, we'll get readers that way. Everyone loves stories based off the games.”
“What? Why?” Kenta raised an eyebrow, the flush in his cheeks dying down. “Why would someone
read a
story about a
game they could
play?”
“Goddamn this chapter is
very italic happy
today.”
Kenta waved the comment off with a motion of his hand, turning around on the bench to stare at the back of the Kamon's head. Another small wind whipped throughout the clearing, scattering dead leaves across the dirt path. “Really, why?”
He shrugged. “I don't know. I mean, I saw a story based on the third generation games – Brendan and May or whatever – that had over a thousand reviews on not one site, but two. Two, Kenta! And it wasn't even that good! There were talking pokémon for lugia's sake! And holy crap, that reminds me – I skimmed to the end, and it was at the league battles, and freakin' Brendan didn't even win! Kids spent weeks and weeks reading sixty something chapters of that s
hit and he doesn't even win!”
“That's actually kind of funny. Suckers.”
He laughed. “A little.” Kamon shook his head, clearing his throat. “Er, anyway. Point being is that people like reading stories based off the games. So maybe we can try that.”
Another hoothoot cried out, and the three trainers absentmindedly heard the beating of wings and the swooshing of wind as the creature dove down toward them before swinging back up, wings spread out. A feather loosened itself from the owl's body, drifting down toward them in a slow spiral before regaining stability and floating toward the left. It then started to spiral down again, landing on the dirt floor. Another breeze, and it kicked up a bit, the lights of the pokemon center ahead making its dark brown coloring look lighter, like a light brown. The color of dirt, really. No one was watching it. There really was no point in describing it. Whatever.
“Oh, ho, random description. Love it,” muttered Kenta, giving the thumb's up before stretching his arms out and resting them on the back of the bench. He slouched a bit, kicking his feet out. He examined his shoes; they were caked with mud.
“I'll write it,” murmured a quiet voice. “If we're doing a game-based 'fic.”
Both boys turned their head toward Marina. She stared back at them, blue eyes wide. Another puff of wind made her pigtails blow behind her shoulders. “I mean, if I'm not going to be in the new games, then we shouldn't waste time switching between ourselves. I'll write it and you guys can shout out suggestions. Or whatever.”
There was an awkward silence until Kamon handed her the laptop. “Well, okay,” he muttered.
A click resounded as Marina pried the lid of the laptop open. She pressed a button, and the screen turned back on with a slight sizzling noise, like bugs jumping on the the grill of a hot car. “So how exactly would this story start?” she questioned, opening the document that held their story. “Are we going word by word or what?”
“Maybe. We should at least try to keep with it,” answered Kamon. “Do any of you have any of the games on you?”
Kenta nodded and pulled his backpack toward the front, unzipping the smaller pocket. He dug around, pulling out various items (both Kamon and Marina didn't bother to ask why he carried such s
hit around, like a teddiursa figurine, paper clips, and a CD clearly labeled “Greatest ABBA hits”) before tugging out a Gameboy Advanced, its white, plastic protection covered in dried chocolate. He scratched it off with his index finger before handing it to Marina. More digging resumed, pulling out more odd things, before Kenta, triumphantly, raised his hand in the air. Held in between his fingers was a cartridge, transparent blue in colored with silver glittered embedded in it.
“Pokémon Crystal should suffice. It mimics Silver and Gold pretty closely in the beginning,” he said, handing the game to Marina.
Marina slid the chunky cartridge into the back of the GBA and looked for the switch. She felt it at the bottom and turned it on. A black line appeared, but she shook it. The effects didn't change. After more shaking, the girl, frustrated, finally slapped it hard against the flat of her palm. The device finally responded, and the game finally came on screen. “Forgot how crappy these things were. Thanks for bringing up bad memories, Kenta.”
“You're wholeheartedly welcome.” He smiled cheekily again.
Marina didn't respond as she played with the GBA. Kenta heard the game make the occasional beep–
And suddenly there was nothing. Only ... blue. Pale blue. The pokémon center was gone, as was the forest, and so was the bench along with his friends.
Kenta scratched his head – wait, he had no head. He looked around, trying to feel for his face. No hands either. No face either (which should be obvious as he had no head). How was he even thinking? A multitude of questions came up, most of which he didn't know the answer to, about true being, the philosophy of thought: can you really think without no brain? How do you instinctively grab for your face when you have no face and are clearly aware of it, and how exactly are you grabbing for it when you know you have no hands? He then thought, “Eff it,” and continued to stand – or sit, or whatever the hell he was doing.
“Are you a boy?” a voice boomed, making him jump back – assuming he had legs.
“Who is talking?” Kenta shouted back, his voice echoing in the pale blue room. “Are you Jesus? Grant me wishes, Jesus!”
“Or are you a girl?” the deep voice added, ignoring Kenta's comment.
There was quiet and Kenta looked around, trying to figure out if the voice was talking to him.
“Wait. Let me guess.” More beeping before the voice stuttered, “G-girl ...?”
Kenta heard something snicker – so Kamon was around here, too. “Man, you just got burned by Marina, Kenta. I swear to god, Marina, if I knew where I was, I would high five you right now.”
“Eff you, Kamon,” he responded dryly.
There was a giggle, a girly one. “Why, thank you, Kamon. I appreciate the comment ... I think.”
Kenta snapped his head (dammit, he forgot he had no head) to the side and noticed Marina, her legs crossed, sitting in a plushy leather chair in front of a mahogany desk (the same one the left back in the forest, he noted), the laptop placed in front of her. The eeveesquiramachu was sleeping on the table next to the device, his/her/its ear twitching as it dreamed. Marina looked up as if she knew Kenta was looking at her and smiled.
“Well, answer, you,” she remarked.
“You already know the answer to that,” he muttered back dully.
He watched her roll her eyes (the physics of this story or world – or whatever – were too complicated for him to care about anymore). “Deep throat doesn't,” she replied slyly.
“Let's make that deep voice instead, huh?” murmured Kamon.
“Why? What's wrong with deep thro–”
“Dammit, Kenta. Just answer the question,” the red-head (again, the mechanics of how we know he actually is still a red-head doesn't matter) interrupted.
Kenta huffed out in annoyance. “For lugia's sake – fine. Boy.”
There was another change in background at his answer, the pale blue walls darkening to black.
“.............................................”
“.............................................”
“... For god's sake, Marina! What the hell are you doing?”
“Don't blame me, Kamon. The game starts off with rows and rows of ellipses!”
“Ugh. Whatever!”
Kenta heard Marina press a few buttons on the GBA before resuming her typing. The deep voice returned.
“Zzz ... Hm? Wha ...? You woke me up!”
Kenta, standing (or sitting ... possibly leaning) in the room of blackness, looked around, questioning if the voice was talking to him.
“For the record, weakling, you're the game's protagonist. All questions are addressed to you,” murmured Kamon.
“Oh. Right.”
“Will you check the clock for me?”
Kenta, puzzled, asked, “Marina, why am I in the room of some old man? And how did I wake up him if I'm just standing here? I'm not sure how to feel about this. Is this game saying that I'm creepy because I'm in the room of an old man just when he's waking up, or is the old man creepy because he has a young guy in his room?”
Marina looked up from the laptop, the only source of light in the dark room. “Again, I don't know. I didn't write the game. Don't blame me! Just go with it!” Blowing up her bangs, she began to type more.
“What time is it?”
Kenta looked around, trying to find a clock. Of course, being in a room filled with nothing but darkness (and Marina and her laptop), there would be no clock. That and he had no eyes, technically, so he shouldn't be able to see one anyway.
“Let's make it two o'clock,” remarked Marina helpfully.
“Two o'clock then,” Kenta repeated.
“What?” the deep voice replied. “DAY 2 o'clock?”
“Man, if that isn't the most ridiculous translation into English that I've ever seen,” snickered Kamon.
“Yes,” answered Kenta, rolling his eyes.
“How many minutes?” asked the deep voice.
Shrugging, Kenta replied, “Forty-one min–”
“Whoa!” interrupted Deep Voice. “Forty one min.?”
“****,” cursed Kamon again. “Couldn't they at least finish the word? Min.?”
“Stop being so cynical, Kamon,” muttered Marina, sighing.
“Er, yes,” answered Kenta, ignoring his friends.
“DAY 2:41!” repeated Deep Voice. “Yikes! I overslept!”
There was another change in scenery as Marina's hands nimbly darted over the keyboard, typing up the new scene that appeared on the game's screen. Kenta felt an ominous wind rush by as the black walls rushed by and were replaced with white ones. Marina was still stationed at her desk pushed up against the corner. The cheery music of the game echoed throughout the room.
And then, suddenly, for no reason whatsoever, a Professor Oak appeared. Light brown hair streaked with strands of gray hair rested on top of his head in a combed style. A lab coat, crisp and white, covered his broad frame. As usual, the old professor's trademark stern but friendly smile was abroad. He wasn't moving, though. He didn't blink, or shift, or lower his hand that held a pokéball. He just ... stood.
“Hello! Sorry to keep you waiting!” Deep Voice's, er, voice, came out of Professor Oak's body, though his mouth remained unmoving. “Welcome to the world of POKéMON!”
“Oh, so Deep Throat is Professor Oak ...” Marina said thoughtfully, rubbing her chin. “Kenta, why were you in Professor Oak's room? Creep.”
“We agreed on Deep Voice, remember?” Kamon replied. “And yeah, Kenta, why were you in Professor Oak's room?”
“Can we just continue this story?” groaned Kenta.
“Fine. Go, Marina.”
“My name is OAK,” said Oak.
“My name is KENTA,” replied Kenta.
“Dammit, Kenta! You're not suppose to talk yet!” hissed Marina.
“Oh. Sorry.”
“People call me the POKéMON PROF.”
“Why are all NAMES in capital letters?” half-asked, half-shouted Kenta to Marina.
“Fu
ck! More shortening of words? First min., and now prof.?” piped in the red-head.
The girl shrugged. “I think it had to do with programming. Like they needed to capitalize all the names and items in the old games. And I told you to stop being cynical, Kamon! Anyway ...”
Professor Oak faded away and was replaced with a pokémon, making Marina squeal. It was a small, rubbery pokemon, a smile abroad its face.
“Wooper are so cute!” she gushed. “Er, moving on, though.”
“This world is inhabited by creatures that we call POK–”
“Wooper!” cried the wooper in the middle of the POKéMON PROF.'s speech.
“People and POKéMON live together by supporting each other,” continued the POKéMON PROF. as if he were unaware of the interruption. “Some people play with POKéMON, some battle with them.”
Marina typed away as the wooper faded away from the room – much to her dismay – and was replaced with the stiff form of Professor Oak and his unmoving mouth.
“But we don't know everything about POKéMON yet,” he explained. “There are still many mysteries to solve. That's why I study POKéMON every day.”
The form of Professor Oak appeared, and, amazed, Kenta watched as his body started to take shape in front of him. It first started with his mud-caked shoes, then his shorts that cut off below the knee, rising to his red jacket, then to his face embedded with two golden-brown eyes, followed by unruly black hair that was capped with a backwards baseball cap.
Deep Voice asked, “Now, what did you say your name was?”
Kenta fiddled with his bangs, adjusting them so they weren't in his line of vision. “Does my name have to be in all caps?” he whined.
Marina rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Then my name is Kenta!” he answered cheerfully.
“Kenta, are you ready?” asked the voice.
“Yes I–”
“Ffffff, Kenta! You're not allowed to talk yet! If ever!” shouted Marina, glaring at the hat-wearing boy.
“What? Why?” questioned Kenta, confused.
“All the pokémon games are known for having silent protagonists. The playable ones, anyway,” added Kamon thoughtfully, his body still not configured by Marina's typing. “All you get is the neat YES and NO options.”
“Well, that's stupid.” Kenta scowled and crossed his arms. “We'll see how long that lasts.”
“Your very own POKéMON story is about to unfold!” exclaimed Deep Voice. “You'll face fun times and tough challenges. A world of dreams and adventures with POKéMON awaits! Let's go! I'll be seeing you later!”
“Thanks, Jesus!” Kenta waved to lugia-knows-who before the world around him transformed into a familiar town called New Bark.
Or NEW BARK.
Whatever.
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I thought dragging out longer than that would be killing it. ;P So we'll pick up with the actual game in the next chapter. I'll probably update this relatively soon(er than usual).
LaTeR dAyZ!
