RJR Basimilus
Arceus is nice I suppose...
- Location
- the Lovely Planet
- Partners
-
Some short stories and a picture or two creatred for the Anniversary Bingus Game. I wouldn't expect much. Oo, I hope inserting pictures works.
My assigned card, red dots indicating the completed objectives. The associated word is listed next to the thing too!
Special thanks to Negrek for inviting me here out of the blue when TR first opened. It's a nice. Plus my user ID is 10! Wack...
Fuzzy Dice in the Woods - Unfortunate Implications
On little jobs, one has a lot of time to think about the little things
When it comes to singular stories like these, I seem to have a habit of writing them in a single night. It’s like a burst of an idea, and I think this one came out okay. I even came up with some little blurbs for each one! They say put your best foot forward, so here’s the one I think is the best first, so that you might reasonably have happier memories to fall back on when the next two break your windows.
I’m in the middle of idly flicking the window control when I notice the Chesnaught in the rearview mirror flashing peace signs at us.
“Pete,” I ask, more amused than confused, “What is Cogra doing?” Cogra is what Pete named his pokemon, ostensibly for his favorite meal, corn au gratin. Too big to fit in the small cab of the truck, he is riding in the bed. Sure we could have put him in his pokeball. On a day like today though? It should be a capital offense to keep your pokemon away if the temperature is above 70, obviously the exception being ice types.
“He just likes doing that,” Pete replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “I think he learned it from all the movies we watch.”
Myself and Pete were on a business call, upgrading a security system for an older woman living out in the swamps. It’s embarrassing to say, but automated alarms never made sense to me- especially in this case. What’s the use of a blaring klaxon when the home intruder is an overweight Blastoise? Their midnight raids singlehandedly sent the sale of refrigerators skyrocketing in this area alone. Biologists have been frothing at the mouth at the thought of a case study. Regardless though, if this 80-year old lady wants one, then I’m not going to complain.
I stick my head out the window and give Cogra a thumbs up. The Chesnaught grins and salutes me, and for a moment I feel like we just connected on some deeper level.
What the fuck.
Statistically, 35% of gas stations clerks are fired for violating the golden rule of convenience establishments, do *not* feed wild pokemon. What should seem obvious in hindsight is lost in the momentary pleasure of making a friend that fills the eight and a half hours of sheer boredom, more often the rule than the exception at lonely stations halfway to the end of the world. Sometimes people get away with it. But like a two for one deal on cabbages, pokemon- like housewives, talk. One friend becomes two, two becomes five, and once you pull a pack of crackers off the store shelves for that cute little Numel, it’s all over.
Some say this particular problem has halted these locales in time, the eternal overtures of technological progress perhaps a bit too convenient for these tiny poke-bandits. Door sensors have by and large been turned off and left to rot after letting in one too many curious Murkrow. Self serve pumps are a distant memory, the entire nozzle locked in a metal box to dissuade the occasional hungry Grimer. The humans are safe, locked in their curious little fort, forever doomed to their self imposed solitude, unless they happen to sell a winning lottery ticket.
While Pete refills the truck, I browse the magazines. The windows are surprisingly clean, usually most employees have the time, but never the incentive. The kid on duty is a bit too eager to ring me up, watching expectantly from the counter, standing ram-rod straight. It must be his first job, and I’m not sure whether to feel happy for him or sympathetic.
“You read ‘Home and Garden’?” I shout from across the cramped room.
“Not really, I like the manga,” he replies, still frozen in place. Good kid.
“That’s cool,” I reply lamely. We can never see eye to eye. This I know from having to ask my nephew what ‘Iku! Sutāhīrōgurādon’ means for what he claims is the fifth time this month. Unfortunately, I just can’t find myself interested in ‘Star Hero Groudon’ or whatever.
Then, I spot something strange. Next to the burnt sandwiches and the encrusted pretzel machine is a little stand. Hanging from it are three large paws. Neatly stitched up at the top, they are a brilliant bright blue, complemented by soft pink paw pads.
I walk over a bit more briskly then I intend to, clutching my copy of ‘Home and Garden’. “What are these?” I ask.
The clerk, slightly more relaxed now, plucks one off the hooks. “This is a good luck charm around these parts,” he says, slightly proud. “They’re Suicune paws. $8.99 for one!”
Huh?
I can dimly recall an article from an issue of H&G a few years back. A two-million dollar villa with an indoor waterfall, lit by multicolored LEDs was featured. The water was imported directly from Mount Coronet, and the article claimed it was so clean that if Suicune touched it, it would only make it dirtier. Uneducated in the ways of pokemon as I am, I looked up the pokemon to understand the reference. In hindsight, I must have been obscenely bored that day.
Suicune was a one-of-a-kind pokemon that supposedly has the curious ability to purify any water it touches.
“Shouldn’t they be priced a bit higher?” I ask, trying to push the image of a Suicune limping around on one foot out of my head.
“Nah, Suicune just grows them back.” The reply was matter-of-fact, as if I’m the idiot for not knowing this blindingly obvious piece of trivia.
“Alright.”
On a whim, I buy one.
--
Pete drives with one hand while holding the paw in his other hand, lightly squeezing it.
“It’s feet grow back.” A statement of disbelief more than a question. Pete doesn’t seem interested in knowing either way. Cogra is pressing his face against the rear window, staring at the paw with a mixture of fascination and disgust.
“I guess?” I have nothing else to offer. This is a story I will repeat for the rest of my life, but I’m still trying to believe it myself.
“So like, Suicune is okay with letting people just do that? Are you sure there aren’t more of them?”
“I really don’t know?” I reply, staring at the bottle of water I have in my lap. I wonder if it’ll taste better if I hold it in the air and pour it over the paw and into my mouth, and whether or not vomiting afterwards will make Pete punch me.
“Fucking weird man,” Pete says, shaking his head. “My aunt has a Glameow that had to have it’s tail amputated after an accident. She said she found an article online that said hanging it over a doorway would protect the house from evil spirits.”
“And? Did she do it?”
More importantly, was the Glameow okay with it?
“She did! It took a full month for it to start rotting, and her Glameow wouldn’t go anywhere near the hallway for a full year afterwards.” Pete laughs, handing the paw back to me.
We finally arrived about an hour later. The house is a quietly elegant two story cabin, creeping vines spider webbing across the front. A beautiful little garden is out front, a lone Sunflower wandering the rows with a watering can.
Aloise is what I’d call an ‘old money’ name. I am immediately forced into a titanic reckoning by this tiny old lady with a radiant smile. Aloise’s house is the epitome of cozy, an insulated encapsulation of every broken hearted poet’s interpretation of paradise. It is also unexpectedly modern, I spy a solar panel control unit on the wall, and the kitchen is strangely reminiscent of a Goldenrod apartment. Aloise explains that she wants motion detectors around the perimeter of her house, triggering a moderately loud chime in her bedroom. On the latter point, she is strangely insistent that under no circumstances is the system to contact authorities unless she activates it.
As I wire up the system, I am completely baffled, wondering exactly what this old woman is going to do if her house is surrounded by Stantler. I wrack my head for answers, and receive nothing in return.
When we’re finished, Aloise has somehow prepared a full lemon pie, inviting Pete, myself, and Cogra to eat on her back porch. Massive trees tower overhead, our little dessert serenaded by birdsong. Aloise takes particular pleasure in feeding Cogra, the Chesnaught contentedly eating double what we pick at. The whole thing feels straight out of a movie. For some reason, Aloise has left a slice of pie at the edge of the table.
Carrying my empty plate to her sink, I notice two more Suicune paws hanging over a window. Now I’m seriously curious, is this a generational affair, or is one single Suicune handing out it’s own paws like candy?
I return to the table, thinking on how to broach the subject without sounding like a homicide detective.
“I saw you have Suicune paws,” I say casually.
“Oh yes, everyone around here has them. They’re a gift from Suicune to us.” Aloise answers evenly, as if a pokemon gifting it’s own body frequently is a completely natural thing. “My grandfather accidentally cut too high once and gave the poor dear a limp, I’m still amazed after all these years that it still comes back.”
I’m in a surrealist film, but I don’t know what I’d call it. Maybe something like ‘The Self-Exterminating Angel’, that would draw eyes. And yet, Aloise is completely genuine in her words, such that I find it harder to not believe her.
“Oh, here he is now! I knew he’d smell the pie.” Aloise stands up.
As if to answer all my questions by shattering my doubts and skepticism into a million pieces, a slender brilliantly blue pokemon pads out of the forest. I look at it’s feet, feeling unaccountably weird. They’re the same.
Suicune walks up to the table simply and begins nibbling on the slice of lemon pie Aloise had left out. Pete and I can only stare; Cogra is snoozing.
I get the courage to ask. “Is there only one Suicune?” I gaze at Suicune. It has bits of crust on its face.
“Of course, though I see why you ask,” Aloise says, gently stroking Suicune. “My children are always so confused that his paws just grow back. It seems unnatural right?” She laughs boisterously.
We give Aloise every discount on the books. If the boss writes us up, fuck him. Suicune graciously poses with us for a picture before leaving again into the woods. As if to settle the matter in stone, as it goes, I spot a distinctive limp on one of it’s back legs.
Only an hour in on the drive back, and Pete has received more likes on our picture than people he has met over the course of his entire life. We both know to keep mum on the circumstances of our experience beyond that, and after checking the bar, he’s content to power down his phone for the remainder of the drive. Cogra is eating an entire second lemon pie that Aloise made for us. Her generosity is such that I’m half convinced that I’ve died.
Turning over the Suicune paw in my hand, I’m at ease. I’ve learned one new thing today, but am left alone with everything else. Why did Suicune start doing this? What does it stand to gain?
I asked Aloise one last question before we left earlier. I wanted to know what the purpose of the system she wanted installed was. She nodded gracefully and explained in no uncertain terms that she had to know when pokemon came to her house so she could prepare something for them to eat.
“I would always wake up when they came before,” she said. “But I’m slightly older now, and I’ve become something of a deep sleeper. So I need some help, you know?”
There were no golden rules for Aloise. I’m frankly envious, and I wonder if my retirement will be half as enthralling.
Tomorrow we have to repair an industrial carbon dioxide monitor. It’s another day at work as usual, but now at the very least, I know the world is a bit more magical than I thought.
Honeybee, Bilaterally - Insomnia
Nothing is more lovely than the uncertain ego
Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to hear the answer for. Written in pre-dawn hours, as per usual.
“Have you ever wanted to dream?”
“Not really, no. What about you?”
“I think I want to try sometime.”
The Magcargo stifled a laugh. “You know we can’t sleep. I guess that makes your idea a pipe dream, huh?”
“It’s a dream to want to dream,” the Beedrill replied, “I guess that makes it a dream within itself, so in a way I succeeded.”
“Really?” The Magcargo looked up at the solitary skylight thoughtfully, “I guess semantically, it’s true. But if that’s how you define it, then haven’t you already accomplished it every time you’ve wished for something or hoped for anything?”
The Beedrill shook his head. “I’ve never wanted or needed anything. That’s your job.”
“So how am I doing my job if you just said what you did? You want something.”
“But we concluded that I already succeeded at doing so,” the Beedrill replied, “I guess my streak still stands.”
“You’re saying that because you’ve succeeded, you’ve never needed anything because you already have it?”
“That should have been obvious from the beginning, and I knew it too,” the Beedrill replied, slightly annoyed. “But I couldn’t tell because you did your job. You gave me something to dream about.”
The Magcargo looked surprised. “I did? What was it.”
“I want to dream about stinging myself with my own stinger,” the Beedrill said quietly.
“You don’t want to talk about it now?”
“If I talk about it, I think about it, and if I think about it, I want it. If I dream though, I forget, but I can enjoy myself, however fleeting.”
The Magcargo cast a worried glance at the Beedrill. “But you’re talking about it now.”
The Beedrill shook his head again. “I’m telling you about it. But I’ve already forgotten what I told you, because I know I’ll remember it when I dream about it.”
“So you’ve already dreamed about it.” The Magcargo was silent for a moment. “Will you dream about it again?”
“If I will, I’ve already done it. All the more reason to be happy. Do you dream, Sivo?”
Sivo looked down, watching the magma that made up his body ebb and swirl. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to. I can’t find happiness like you. If I dream, I’m afraid I won’t wake up.”
“But you’ll never sleep, so you’ll never be afraid to dream,” the Beedrill poked the ground with his spear arms. “Are you dreaming of sleeping?”
“Maybe- but truthfully, I’m scared for you, Maeve. You’ve already dreamed, so what’s left for you?”
Maeve stared at Sivo silently. The Beedrill began to tear up.
“You’ve done your job again,” the Beedrill said through tears. “I remember now that I dreamed of you.”
“Was it a sad dream?” Sivo asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” Maeve replied, “I’ve never slept, so the dream happened before I was born.”
“Do you wish that you knew?”
“I never did. That was your wish.”
“Oh...” Sivo was lost for words, staring uselessly at Maeve. “Do you want to sleep?”
Maeve wiped the tears from his eyes. “I want nothing. But we can try anyway. You know what will happen though.”
“I know,” Sivo said sadly, “But I think it’ll work out! After all, there is no sleep. There is only nothing. And that’s okay.”
The solitary skylight began to brighten as the sun rose. It illuminated an empty room, but also a happy one.
H - Accidental Hero
We embrace the waking evil so we can sleep peacefully
I guess someone might refer to this as horror, but I don’t really feel like it is. Personally, I don’t feel that fear is adequately conveyed through text, I just think of this as more of a weird story. This didn’t really come out as well as I wanted, but it’s still got some things I like about it.
CW: Serious injury, slight mentions of blood
Rising out of the grime like a miniature obelisk, Trip’s phone lay peacefully, half in - half out of a pile of sludge. Grimacing, he fished it out and thumbed the power button to no avail.
“Oh, fuck me,” he said under his breath. The phone was a newer model too. He bent down to examine the little mound. It was an oily mixture of decaying, rotten produce and water leaking from the overhead pipes, built up at a long clogged drain. Recoiling from the smell, he stood up, stretching his neck. While it was a setback, he was set to make enough money from this to buy ten new phones if he wanted.
The job was simple- clear the subway tunnels of a colony of Drapion that had made a nest. While not particularly a danger to the hundreds of trains passing through, it was certainly a nuisance for workers, and a sizable contract was offered for their removal.
Trip was a peculiar sort of opportunist. He wasn’t in the pest removal service, but damned if it didn’t sound like easy money. He went on the internet, set up a cheap company domain, and within a day had underbid every single legitimate service in town. His rates were obscenely low enough to give even an idiot pause, but it wasn’t a secret that the city board had a lot to say about the new stadium and very little about the ancient network of dark tunnels under the street. He won with little pushback.
Armed with a flashlight and a backpack full of ultra balls, he descended into the tunnel network, and for several hours had been wandering. Before he dropped his phone, he had already caught several Drapion and a few Skorupi, drawing X’s on the occupied balls with a marker.
“I wonder if they clean this place often,” he murmured to himself, rubbing his phone screen on a pant leg. There was an odd piece of graffiti on the wall that looked like the letter H. It lacked any hallmarks of traditional markings; rather than any color or flair it was completely straight and unadorned.
“What are you doing down here?” a voice said from the darkness. A short man wearing a hard hat emerged, carrying a water gun in his hands.
Trip waved to him. “I’m the pest guy they called in for the Drapion.” He fished in his pockets, pulling out the temporary license he had gotten. “Didn’t they tell you I was coming?”
The man shook his head. “They don’t tell us shit man. That’s cool though, took them long enough to do something.”
“Yeah,” Trip replied, glancing at the water gun. “You got water in that thing? Think you can shoot some at me? It’s hot down here.”
“This? Sorry, this is full of acid,” the worker said nonchalantly.
Trip stared at him, waiting for an explanation. After a few moments, he spoke up. “Uhh, why?”
“Safety, you know? There’s some nasty fucking Raticate down here, so we just started carrying these. Doesn’t do much for the Drapion, I know.” The man shrugged. “As for why it’s a water gun- what do you think our budget is? Most of the money goes to keeping the trains running.”
“That makes sense,” Trip said, hiding a smile. “But yeah, I’ll be down here for a bit. I’ll probably come back too, I doubt I can cover this whole place today.” He didn’t mention that he was worried about running into the wild Raticate the city had perhaps conveniently forgotten to tell him about.
“Alright, be careful,” the worker said. “I’ve worked here for a decade and I don’t even know how this place is laid out. Crazy shit.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
--
A train rumbled overhead somewhere. Trip looked up, staring at the ceiling longingly. He was tired and hungry, the tunnels stretching into infinity. Drapion had been appearing in a steady stream, but strangely nearly all of them had put up almost no fight when Trip threw pokeballs at them. His backpack was nearly full with X’d out balls, and his flashlight had started flickering intermittently. In the dark, he wondered if the acid water gun the worker had been carrying would really keep a Raticate at bay. If anything, he thought, it would make them more angry.
His flashlight caught something on the wall, and he stopped. Scrawled on the wall was another H, this one more erratic and unsteady as if gouged into the wall by a claw. Trip poked at the symbol, tracing it with his finger.
“This must be a wayfinding marker or something,” he said quietly to himself. He turned to continue walking, then stopped, staring at the ground.
A pyramid of bread rolls sat neatly against the wall. They looked fresh, as if they had been placed there recently, and they smelled great. Hesitantly, Trip crouched down and reached out, grabbing one. It was cold, but soft. He looked at it for a moment longer before taking a small bite.
It tasted great. Though it was cold, the bread was extremely high quality. Trip quickly grabbed the ones that weren’t touching the ground and scarfed them down. Almost immediately, he felt a wave of revulsion. What the fuck was he doing, eating stuff on the floor like he was trying to survive. He stood up, taking a deep breath, then turned and walked back the way he had come.
The path held no familiarity in darkness. With his phone out of commission, Trip had no way of knowing how much time had passed in the underbelly of the metro. The sound of trains overhead had grown disconcertingly quiet and less frequent. Occasional chittering from Drapion could be heard echoing from somewhere nearby, and every once and awhile, a deep grinding noise could be heard.
Trip fiddled with his phone, desperately trying to get it to turn on. His shoulders were sore from carrying the bag of pokeballs on his back, and a small part of him was terrified of all the Drapion he had caught breaking out at once. Rounding a corner, his flashlight finally gave out, pitifully flashing one last time before plunging him into darkness. The sides of the walls were lit by dim bulbs, but they illuminated nothing other than themselves, a trail of crumbs in an abyss.
He blindly moved from light to light, never letting his hand drop from the wall. The sounds of the distant Drapion seemed menacingly close. Suddenly a deep, long, screech of something scraping against metal erupted from nearby. Trip froze, sharply looking behind him. There was nothing but blackness. Composing himself, Trip continued. He rounded another corner and stopped again. The emergency lights continued for a few feet before vanishing. He stared in disbelief as the screeching noise started again, a single white light appearing a ways down the tunnel.
The light was still for a moment before disappearing, two lights popping up in its place.
Trip’s breath caught in his throat.
The lights changed again as whatever was making them started running towards Trip, heavy footfalls reverberating.
“Shit!” Trip yelled, nearly falling over as he ran the opposite direction. He rushed through the dark, heedlessly trying to escape anywhere, but he was unable to outrun the dark figure, the lights blinking rapidly and randomly as something heavy slammed down on Trip’s head, the man being knocked unconscious instantly.
--
Trip became dimly aware of a voice calling. He felt a dull pain from somewhere, but couldn’t pinpoint it.
“Hey! Hey! Wake up.”
Groaning, he tried to open his eyes only to be greeted by a bright beam of light in his face. He rolled to the side, cursing.
“Oh, sorry man. Are you okay?”
Trip took a deep breath and forced himself to turn back around, a wave of dizziness passing over him as he did so. He glanced around wearily and saw the worker from earlier, holding a bright flashlight and examining him with a worried expression.
“It’s been hours, what the heck have you been-” the worker trailed off, staring strangely at Trip. “Ah... I see.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Trip tried to sit upright, but his legs gave out under him. He looked down and immediately recoiled, gasping sharply. They were severely bruised and bloody in spots, but the worst was his feet, which had been viciously twisted completely backwards, laying uselessly on the ground. “What- what happened?” he asked fearfully, running a hand over his injuries.
“You’ve been marked by that thing,” the worker said quietly, tapping his forehead. Trip followed his lead and reached up to touch his own head. He felt a deep scar on his head. Tracing it with a finger, he realized with a start that the letter H had been carved into his head by something.
“Hey! Get me out of here,” Trip screamed, reaching out futilely to the worker, who backed away. “What is this? Did you do this?”
“I didn’t do anything,” the worker protested, his eyes flitting about. “But I can’t help you now man, it wants you.”
“What wants me? What the fuck does H mean?”
“It just looks like an H,” the worker said. There was a grinding sound and the worker dropped the flashlight in a panic. He reached behind him, pulling the water gun from earlier off his back. He aimed into the darkness, eyes focused straight ahead as he bent down to pick up the flashlight.
“That doesn’t sound like a rat,” Trip said, looking around wildly.
“There are no Raticate here,” the worker replied, “This is for something else.”
Trip barely registered that the man had been lying. His breathing was quick, and the pain was starting to hit him. His legs were on fire, and he noticed that both his feet were bleeding profusely.
“Hey, I don’t mean no harm,” the worker shouted into the darkness, waving the water gun around. “I won’t touch your stuff.”
“Who are you fucking talking to?” Trip screamed again, trying to pull himself up.
“Look, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to take this one for the team,” the worker said quickly, “We’ve been trying to get these tunnels shut down for years because we knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later.”
“Knew what? What was going to happen?” Trip dragged himself along the ground. “Damn it!”
Out of the darkness, a massive figure lumbered out. It was a dull brown color, it’s body jagged and piecemeal. It had no face, instead a series of six dots in the shape of an H that slowly blinked.
“I think this thing was called Regirock,” the worker explained, backing away slowly. “It’s lived here forever, and it’s tough as shit, not to mention smart.”
Trip stared at the pokemon, horrified. “What the fuck,” he mouthed, his throat dry.
“I’m not going to spray you man, okay?” the worker said to the Regirock. “You can have him, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Huh?” Trip looked back at the other man. “Don’t just leave me here! Do something!”
“I can’t,” the worker said, shaking his head. “You’d need some serious firepower to beat that thing, and the city has never believed us when we said it was here.” His expression grew grim. “I’m really sorry, but like, think of it like this. We can finally prove it’s been down here when it takes you. No one else will get hurt by this thing. Think of yourself as a hero, okay?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing I can say or do to change it.”
Regirock suddenly moved towards Trip, it’s face blinking rapidly. Trip tried to pull himself backwards, but his arms gave out. He looked desperately at the worker, tears streaming down his face. “Help me!” he cried.
The worker silently shook his head, turning and running away, the beam of the flashlight disappearing into the distance.
“Bastard!” Trip screamed. He turned to face Regirock, sobbing as the giant pokemon closed in on him, it’s giant rocky arms reaching directly towards him.
--
Several weeks later, the tunnel was sealed by a crew. The rail system was immediately upgraded so that all of its vital systems were either aboveground, or located in a station. An abandoned backpack was found near the entrance, full of pokeballs containing several Drapion and Skorupi that were quickly released into the wild. Predictably, the whole thing was spun as a long awaited update, the real story of the missing man circulated among employees as an urban legend. No one ever figured out what happened.
Picture time :)
Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent
Self explanatory
Nobody’s Perfect
This is actually based on an image I saw
Ok, I'm done for now. Thanks for stopping by.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pCQt-JA7jM0
Have a nice song before you go.
My assigned card, red dots indicating the completed objectives. The associated word is listed next to the thing too!
Special thanks to Negrek for inviting me here out of the blue when TR first opened. It's a nice. Plus my user ID is 10! Wack...
Fuzzy Dice in the Woods - Unfortunate Implications
On little jobs, one has a lot of time to think about the little things
When it comes to singular stories like these, I seem to have a habit of writing them in a single night. It’s like a burst of an idea, and I think this one came out okay. I even came up with some little blurbs for each one! They say put your best foot forward, so here’s the one I think is the best first, so that you might reasonably have happier memories to fall back on when the next two break your windows.
I’m in the middle of idly flicking the window control when I notice the Chesnaught in the rearview mirror flashing peace signs at us.
“Pete,” I ask, more amused than confused, “What is Cogra doing?” Cogra is what Pete named his pokemon, ostensibly for his favorite meal, corn au gratin. Too big to fit in the small cab of the truck, he is riding in the bed. Sure we could have put him in his pokeball. On a day like today though? It should be a capital offense to keep your pokemon away if the temperature is above 70, obviously the exception being ice types.
“He just likes doing that,” Pete replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “I think he learned it from all the movies we watch.”
Myself and Pete were on a business call, upgrading a security system for an older woman living out in the swamps. It’s embarrassing to say, but automated alarms never made sense to me- especially in this case. What’s the use of a blaring klaxon when the home intruder is an overweight Blastoise? Their midnight raids singlehandedly sent the sale of refrigerators skyrocketing in this area alone. Biologists have been frothing at the mouth at the thought of a case study. Regardless though, if this 80-year old lady wants one, then I’m not going to complain.
I stick my head out the window and give Cogra a thumbs up. The Chesnaught grins and salutes me, and for a moment I feel like we just connected on some deeper level.
What the fuck.
Statistically, 35% of gas stations clerks are fired for violating the golden rule of convenience establishments, do *not* feed wild pokemon. What should seem obvious in hindsight is lost in the momentary pleasure of making a friend that fills the eight and a half hours of sheer boredom, more often the rule than the exception at lonely stations halfway to the end of the world. Sometimes people get away with it. But like a two for one deal on cabbages, pokemon- like housewives, talk. One friend becomes two, two becomes five, and once you pull a pack of crackers off the store shelves for that cute little Numel, it’s all over.
Some say this particular problem has halted these locales in time, the eternal overtures of technological progress perhaps a bit too convenient for these tiny poke-bandits. Door sensors have by and large been turned off and left to rot after letting in one too many curious Murkrow. Self serve pumps are a distant memory, the entire nozzle locked in a metal box to dissuade the occasional hungry Grimer. The humans are safe, locked in their curious little fort, forever doomed to their self imposed solitude, unless they happen to sell a winning lottery ticket.
While Pete refills the truck, I browse the magazines. The windows are surprisingly clean, usually most employees have the time, but never the incentive. The kid on duty is a bit too eager to ring me up, watching expectantly from the counter, standing ram-rod straight. It must be his first job, and I’m not sure whether to feel happy for him or sympathetic.
“You read ‘Home and Garden’?” I shout from across the cramped room.
“Not really, I like the manga,” he replies, still frozen in place. Good kid.
“That’s cool,” I reply lamely. We can never see eye to eye. This I know from having to ask my nephew what ‘Iku! Sutāhīrōgurādon’ means for what he claims is the fifth time this month. Unfortunately, I just can’t find myself interested in ‘Star Hero Groudon’ or whatever.
Then, I spot something strange. Next to the burnt sandwiches and the encrusted pretzel machine is a little stand. Hanging from it are three large paws. Neatly stitched up at the top, they are a brilliant bright blue, complemented by soft pink paw pads.
I walk over a bit more briskly then I intend to, clutching my copy of ‘Home and Garden’. “What are these?” I ask.
The clerk, slightly more relaxed now, plucks one off the hooks. “This is a good luck charm around these parts,” he says, slightly proud. “They’re Suicune paws. $8.99 for one!”
Huh?
I can dimly recall an article from an issue of H&G a few years back. A two-million dollar villa with an indoor waterfall, lit by multicolored LEDs was featured. The water was imported directly from Mount Coronet, and the article claimed it was so clean that if Suicune touched it, it would only make it dirtier. Uneducated in the ways of pokemon as I am, I looked up the pokemon to understand the reference. In hindsight, I must have been obscenely bored that day.
Suicune was a one-of-a-kind pokemon that supposedly has the curious ability to purify any water it touches.
“Shouldn’t they be priced a bit higher?” I ask, trying to push the image of a Suicune limping around on one foot out of my head.
“Nah, Suicune just grows them back.” The reply was matter-of-fact, as if I’m the idiot for not knowing this blindingly obvious piece of trivia.
“Alright.”
On a whim, I buy one.
--
Pete drives with one hand while holding the paw in his other hand, lightly squeezing it.
“It’s feet grow back.” A statement of disbelief more than a question. Pete doesn’t seem interested in knowing either way. Cogra is pressing his face against the rear window, staring at the paw with a mixture of fascination and disgust.
“I guess?” I have nothing else to offer. This is a story I will repeat for the rest of my life, but I’m still trying to believe it myself.
“So like, Suicune is okay with letting people just do that? Are you sure there aren’t more of them?”
“I really don’t know?” I reply, staring at the bottle of water I have in my lap. I wonder if it’ll taste better if I hold it in the air and pour it over the paw and into my mouth, and whether or not vomiting afterwards will make Pete punch me.
“Fucking weird man,” Pete says, shaking his head. “My aunt has a Glameow that had to have it’s tail amputated after an accident. She said she found an article online that said hanging it over a doorway would protect the house from evil spirits.”
“And? Did she do it?”
More importantly, was the Glameow okay with it?
“She did! It took a full month for it to start rotting, and her Glameow wouldn’t go anywhere near the hallway for a full year afterwards.” Pete laughs, handing the paw back to me.
We finally arrived about an hour later. The house is a quietly elegant two story cabin, creeping vines spider webbing across the front. A beautiful little garden is out front, a lone Sunflower wandering the rows with a watering can.
Aloise is what I’d call an ‘old money’ name. I am immediately forced into a titanic reckoning by this tiny old lady with a radiant smile. Aloise’s house is the epitome of cozy, an insulated encapsulation of every broken hearted poet’s interpretation of paradise. It is also unexpectedly modern, I spy a solar panel control unit on the wall, and the kitchen is strangely reminiscent of a Goldenrod apartment. Aloise explains that she wants motion detectors around the perimeter of her house, triggering a moderately loud chime in her bedroom. On the latter point, she is strangely insistent that under no circumstances is the system to contact authorities unless she activates it.
As I wire up the system, I am completely baffled, wondering exactly what this old woman is going to do if her house is surrounded by Stantler. I wrack my head for answers, and receive nothing in return.
When we’re finished, Aloise has somehow prepared a full lemon pie, inviting Pete, myself, and Cogra to eat on her back porch. Massive trees tower overhead, our little dessert serenaded by birdsong. Aloise takes particular pleasure in feeding Cogra, the Chesnaught contentedly eating double what we pick at. The whole thing feels straight out of a movie. For some reason, Aloise has left a slice of pie at the edge of the table.
Carrying my empty plate to her sink, I notice two more Suicune paws hanging over a window. Now I’m seriously curious, is this a generational affair, or is one single Suicune handing out it’s own paws like candy?
I return to the table, thinking on how to broach the subject without sounding like a homicide detective.
“I saw you have Suicune paws,” I say casually.
“Oh yes, everyone around here has them. They’re a gift from Suicune to us.” Aloise answers evenly, as if a pokemon gifting it’s own body frequently is a completely natural thing. “My grandfather accidentally cut too high once and gave the poor dear a limp, I’m still amazed after all these years that it still comes back.”
I’m in a surrealist film, but I don’t know what I’d call it. Maybe something like ‘The Self-Exterminating Angel’, that would draw eyes. And yet, Aloise is completely genuine in her words, such that I find it harder to not believe her.
“Oh, here he is now! I knew he’d smell the pie.” Aloise stands up.
As if to answer all my questions by shattering my doubts and skepticism into a million pieces, a slender brilliantly blue pokemon pads out of the forest. I look at it’s feet, feeling unaccountably weird. They’re the same.
Suicune walks up to the table simply and begins nibbling on the slice of lemon pie Aloise had left out. Pete and I can only stare; Cogra is snoozing.
I get the courage to ask. “Is there only one Suicune?” I gaze at Suicune. It has bits of crust on its face.
“Of course, though I see why you ask,” Aloise says, gently stroking Suicune. “My children are always so confused that his paws just grow back. It seems unnatural right?” She laughs boisterously.
We give Aloise every discount on the books. If the boss writes us up, fuck him. Suicune graciously poses with us for a picture before leaving again into the woods. As if to settle the matter in stone, as it goes, I spot a distinctive limp on one of it’s back legs.
Only an hour in on the drive back, and Pete has received more likes on our picture than people he has met over the course of his entire life. We both know to keep mum on the circumstances of our experience beyond that, and after checking the bar, he’s content to power down his phone for the remainder of the drive. Cogra is eating an entire second lemon pie that Aloise made for us. Her generosity is such that I’m half convinced that I’ve died.
Turning over the Suicune paw in my hand, I’m at ease. I’ve learned one new thing today, but am left alone with everything else. Why did Suicune start doing this? What does it stand to gain?
I asked Aloise one last question before we left earlier. I wanted to know what the purpose of the system she wanted installed was. She nodded gracefully and explained in no uncertain terms that she had to know when pokemon came to her house so she could prepare something for them to eat.
“I would always wake up when they came before,” she said. “But I’m slightly older now, and I’ve become something of a deep sleeper. So I need some help, you know?”
There were no golden rules for Aloise. I’m frankly envious, and I wonder if my retirement will be half as enthralling.
Tomorrow we have to repair an industrial carbon dioxide monitor. It’s another day at work as usual, but now at the very least, I know the world is a bit more magical than I thought.
Honeybee, Bilaterally - Insomnia
Nothing is more lovely than the uncertain ego
Don’t ask questions you aren’t prepared to hear the answer for. Written in pre-dawn hours, as per usual.
“Have you ever wanted to dream?”
“Not really, no. What about you?”
“I think I want to try sometime.”
The Magcargo stifled a laugh. “You know we can’t sleep. I guess that makes your idea a pipe dream, huh?”
“It’s a dream to want to dream,” the Beedrill replied, “I guess that makes it a dream within itself, so in a way I succeeded.”
“Really?” The Magcargo looked up at the solitary skylight thoughtfully, “I guess semantically, it’s true. But if that’s how you define it, then haven’t you already accomplished it every time you’ve wished for something or hoped for anything?”
The Beedrill shook his head. “I’ve never wanted or needed anything. That’s your job.”
“So how am I doing my job if you just said what you did? You want something.”
“But we concluded that I already succeeded at doing so,” the Beedrill replied, “I guess my streak still stands.”
“You’re saying that because you’ve succeeded, you’ve never needed anything because you already have it?”
“That should have been obvious from the beginning, and I knew it too,” the Beedrill replied, slightly annoyed. “But I couldn’t tell because you did your job. You gave me something to dream about.”
The Magcargo looked surprised. “I did? What was it.”
“I want to dream about stinging myself with my own stinger,” the Beedrill said quietly.
“You don’t want to talk about it now?”
“If I talk about it, I think about it, and if I think about it, I want it. If I dream though, I forget, but I can enjoy myself, however fleeting.”
The Magcargo cast a worried glance at the Beedrill. “But you’re talking about it now.”
The Beedrill shook his head again. “I’m telling you about it. But I’ve already forgotten what I told you, because I know I’ll remember it when I dream about it.”
“So you’ve already dreamed about it.” The Magcargo was silent for a moment. “Will you dream about it again?”
“If I will, I’ve already done it. All the more reason to be happy. Do you dream, Sivo?”
Sivo looked down, watching the magma that made up his body ebb and swirl. “I don’t know if I’m allowed to. I can’t find happiness like you. If I dream, I’m afraid I won’t wake up.”
“But you’ll never sleep, so you’ll never be afraid to dream,” the Beedrill poked the ground with his spear arms. “Are you dreaming of sleeping?”
“Maybe- but truthfully, I’m scared for you, Maeve. You’ve already dreamed, so what’s left for you?”
Maeve stared at Sivo silently. The Beedrill began to tear up.
“You’ve done your job again,” the Beedrill said through tears. “I remember now that I dreamed of you.”
“Was it a sad dream?” Sivo asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” Maeve replied, “I’ve never slept, so the dream happened before I was born.”
“Do you wish that you knew?”
“I never did. That was your wish.”
“Oh...” Sivo was lost for words, staring uselessly at Maeve. “Do you want to sleep?”
Maeve wiped the tears from his eyes. “I want nothing. But we can try anyway. You know what will happen though.”
“I know,” Sivo said sadly, “But I think it’ll work out! After all, there is no sleep. There is only nothing. And that’s okay.”
The solitary skylight began to brighten as the sun rose. It illuminated an empty room, but also a happy one.
H - Accidental Hero
We embrace the waking evil so we can sleep peacefully
I guess someone might refer to this as horror, but I don’t really feel like it is. Personally, I don’t feel that fear is adequately conveyed through text, I just think of this as more of a weird story. This didn’t really come out as well as I wanted, but it’s still got some things I like about it.
CW: Serious injury, slight mentions of blood
Rising out of the grime like a miniature obelisk, Trip’s phone lay peacefully, half in - half out of a pile of sludge. Grimacing, he fished it out and thumbed the power button to no avail.
“Oh, fuck me,” he said under his breath. The phone was a newer model too. He bent down to examine the little mound. It was an oily mixture of decaying, rotten produce and water leaking from the overhead pipes, built up at a long clogged drain. Recoiling from the smell, he stood up, stretching his neck. While it was a setback, he was set to make enough money from this to buy ten new phones if he wanted.
The job was simple- clear the subway tunnels of a colony of Drapion that had made a nest. While not particularly a danger to the hundreds of trains passing through, it was certainly a nuisance for workers, and a sizable contract was offered for their removal.
Trip was a peculiar sort of opportunist. He wasn’t in the pest removal service, but damned if it didn’t sound like easy money. He went on the internet, set up a cheap company domain, and within a day had underbid every single legitimate service in town. His rates were obscenely low enough to give even an idiot pause, but it wasn’t a secret that the city board had a lot to say about the new stadium and very little about the ancient network of dark tunnels under the street. He won with little pushback.
Armed with a flashlight and a backpack full of ultra balls, he descended into the tunnel network, and for several hours had been wandering. Before he dropped his phone, he had already caught several Drapion and a few Skorupi, drawing X’s on the occupied balls with a marker.
“I wonder if they clean this place often,” he murmured to himself, rubbing his phone screen on a pant leg. There was an odd piece of graffiti on the wall that looked like the letter H. It lacked any hallmarks of traditional markings; rather than any color or flair it was completely straight and unadorned.
“What are you doing down here?” a voice said from the darkness. A short man wearing a hard hat emerged, carrying a water gun in his hands.
Trip waved to him. “I’m the pest guy they called in for the Drapion.” He fished in his pockets, pulling out the temporary license he had gotten. “Didn’t they tell you I was coming?”
The man shook his head. “They don’t tell us shit man. That’s cool though, took them long enough to do something.”
“Yeah,” Trip replied, glancing at the water gun. “You got water in that thing? Think you can shoot some at me? It’s hot down here.”
“This? Sorry, this is full of acid,” the worker said nonchalantly.
Trip stared at him, waiting for an explanation. After a few moments, he spoke up. “Uhh, why?”
“Safety, you know? There’s some nasty fucking Raticate down here, so we just started carrying these. Doesn’t do much for the Drapion, I know.” The man shrugged. “As for why it’s a water gun- what do you think our budget is? Most of the money goes to keeping the trains running.”
“That makes sense,” Trip said, hiding a smile. “But yeah, I’ll be down here for a bit. I’ll probably come back too, I doubt I can cover this whole place today.” He didn’t mention that he was worried about running into the wild Raticate the city had perhaps conveniently forgotten to tell him about.
“Alright, be careful,” the worker said. “I’ve worked here for a decade and I don’t even know how this place is laid out. Crazy shit.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
--
A train rumbled overhead somewhere. Trip looked up, staring at the ceiling longingly. He was tired and hungry, the tunnels stretching into infinity. Drapion had been appearing in a steady stream, but strangely nearly all of them had put up almost no fight when Trip threw pokeballs at them. His backpack was nearly full with X’d out balls, and his flashlight had started flickering intermittently. In the dark, he wondered if the acid water gun the worker had been carrying would really keep a Raticate at bay. If anything, he thought, it would make them more angry.
His flashlight caught something on the wall, and he stopped. Scrawled on the wall was another H, this one more erratic and unsteady as if gouged into the wall by a claw. Trip poked at the symbol, tracing it with his finger.
“This must be a wayfinding marker or something,” he said quietly to himself. He turned to continue walking, then stopped, staring at the ground.
A pyramid of bread rolls sat neatly against the wall. They looked fresh, as if they had been placed there recently, and they smelled great. Hesitantly, Trip crouched down and reached out, grabbing one. It was cold, but soft. He looked at it for a moment longer before taking a small bite.
It tasted great. Though it was cold, the bread was extremely high quality. Trip quickly grabbed the ones that weren’t touching the ground and scarfed them down. Almost immediately, he felt a wave of revulsion. What the fuck was he doing, eating stuff on the floor like he was trying to survive. He stood up, taking a deep breath, then turned and walked back the way he had come.
The path held no familiarity in darkness. With his phone out of commission, Trip had no way of knowing how much time had passed in the underbelly of the metro. The sound of trains overhead had grown disconcertingly quiet and less frequent. Occasional chittering from Drapion could be heard echoing from somewhere nearby, and every once and awhile, a deep grinding noise could be heard.
Trip fiddled with his phone, desperately trying to get it to turn on. His shoulders were sore from carrying the bag of pokeballs on his back, and a small part of him was terrified of all the Drapion he had caught breaking out at once. Rounding a corner, his flashlight finally gave out, pitifully flashing one last time before plunging him into darkness. The sides of the walls were lit by dim bulbs, but they illuminated nothing other than themselves, a trail of crumbs in an abyss.
He blindly moved from light to light, never letting his hand drop from the wall. The sounds of the distant Drapion seemed menacingly close. Suddenly a deep, long, screech of something scraping against metal erupted from nearby. Trip froze, sharply looking behind him. There was nothing but blackness. Composing himself, Trip continued. He rounded another corner and stopped again. The emergency lights continued for a few feet before vanishing. He stared in disbelief as the screeching noise started again, a single white light appearing a ways down the tunnel.
The light was still for a moment before disappearing, two lights popping up in its place.
Trip’s breath caught in his throat.
The lights changed again as whatever was making them started running towards Trip, heavy footfalls reverberating.
“Shit!” Trip yelled, nearly falling over as he ran the opposite direction. He rushed through the dark, heedlessly trying to escape anywhere, but he was unable to outrun the dark figure, the lights blinking rapidly and randomly as something heavy slammed down on Trip’s head, the man being knocked unconscious instantly.
--
Trip became dimly aware of a voice calling. He felt a dull pain from somewhere, but couldn’t pinpoint it.
“Hey! Hey! Wake up.”
Groaning, he tried to open his eyes only to be greeted by a bright beam of light in his face. He rolled to the side, cursing.
“Oh, sorry man. Are you okay?”
Trip took a deep breath and forced himself to turn back around, a wave of dizziness passing over him as he did so. He glanced around wearily and saw the worker from earlier, holding a bright flashlight and examining him with a worried expression.
“It’s been hours, what the heck have you been-” the worker trailed off, staring strangely at Trip. “Ah... I see.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Trip tried to sit upright, but his legs gave out under him. He looked down and immediately recoiled, gasping sharply. They were severely bruised and bloody in spots, but the worst was his feet, which had been viciously twisted completely backwards, laying uselessly on the ground. “What- what happened?” he asked fearfully, running a hand over his injuries.
“You’ve been marked by that thing,” the worker said quietly, tapping his forehead. Trip followed his lead and reached up to touch his own head. He felt a deep scar on his head. Tracing it with a finger, he realized with a start that the letter H had been carved into his head by something.
“Hey! Get me out of here,” Trip screamed, reaching out futilely to the worker, who backed away. “What is this? Did you do this?”
“I didn’t do anything,” the worker protested, his eyes flitting about. “But I can’t help you now man, it wants you.”
“What wants me? What the fuck does H mean?”
“It just looks like an H,” the worker said. There was a grinding sound and the worker dropped the flashlight in a panic. He reached behind him, pulling the water gun from earlier off his back. He aimed into the darkness, eyes focused straight ahead as he bent down to pick up the flashlight.
“That doesn’t sound like a rat,” Trip said, looking around wildly.
“There are no Raticate here,” the worker replied, “This is for something else.”
Trip barely registered that the man had been lying. His breathing was quick, and the pain was starting to hit him. His legs were on fire, and he noticed that both his feet were bleeding profusely.
“Hey, I don’t mean no harm,” the worker shouted into the darkness, waving the water gun around. “I won’t touch your stuff.”
“Who are you fucking talking to?” Trip screamed again, trying to pull himself up.
“Look, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to take this one for the team,” the worker said quickly, “We’ve been trying to get these tunnels shut down for years because we knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later.”
“Knew what? What was going to happen?” Trip dragged himself along the ground. “Damn it!”
Out of the darkness, a massive figure lumbered out. It was a dull brown color, it’s body jagged and piecemeal. It had no face, instead a series of six dots in the shape of an H that slowly blinked.
“I think this thing was called Regirock,” the worker explained, backing away slowly. “It’s lived here forever, and it’s tough as shit, not to mention smart.”
Trip stared at the pokemon, horrified. “What the fuck,” he mouthed, his throat dry.
“I’m not going to spray you man, okay?” the worker said to the Regirock. “You can have him, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Huh?” Trip looked back at the other man. “Don’t just leave me here! Do something!”
“I can’t,” the worker said, shaking his head. “You’d need some serious firepower to beat that thing, and the city has never believed us when we said it was here.” His expression grew grim. “I’m really sorry, but like, think of it like this. We can finally prove it’s been down here when it takes you. No one else will get hurt by this thing. Think of yourself as a hero, okay?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing I can say or do to change it.”
Regirock suddenly moved towards Trip, it’s face blinking rapidly. Trip tried to pull himself backwards, but his arms gave out. He looked desperately at the worker, tears streaming down his face. “Help me!” he cried.
The worker silently shook his head, turning and running away, the beam of the flashlight disappearing into the distance.
“Bastard!” Trip screamed. He turned to face Regirock, sobbing as the giant pokemon closed in on him, it’s giant rocky arms reaching directly towards him.
--
Several weeks later, the tunnel was sealed by a crew. The rail system was immediately upgraded so that all of its vital systems were either aboveground, or located in a station. An abandoned backpack was found near the entrance, full of pokeballs containing several Drapion and Skorupi that were quickly released into the wild. Predictably, the whole thing was spun as a long awaited update, the real story of the missing man circulated among employees as an urban legend. No one ever figured out what happened.
Picture time :)
Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent
Self explanatory
Nobody’s Perfect
This is actually based on an image I saw
Ok, I'm done for now. Thanks for stopping by.
Have a nice song before you go.