Pokémon Dodging consequence

[K_S]

Story ranking: Teen
Chapter warnings: Death, discussion of murder, profanity


Summery: He died when he wasn't supposed to, but his actions left a void that needed to be filled. For a an who lived dodging the consequences of his actions he'd live again, and face down every single one of his crimes. Whether he wanted to or not.

Chapter one: A judgement

Judgment was harsh and swift, said in a language of sentiment rather than words.

A shame the subject of their jurisdiction was not a sentimental man. He connected to his world with the concrete. Where they said words like travesty and crime he simply saw a room, black smeared the wall, or perhaps it was best to say that the walls smeared the walls. Layers have been vaporized in the violence post the thing’s birth. Still, there was something to nature to this unnatural gathering. The cement had charred, energies released had caused friction, and friction had taken to fuel. The results left a peculiar scent that almost like burning, and set pseudo singe across the varied organs involved in breathing.

Still he drew breath as all about him they judged and perhaps indulged the spiteful thought that he really really should not be breathing.

Judgment wasn’t new. These things who thought them so above humanity certainly acted human enough in their little past time. He’d stood against magistrate and military, civilian powers and corporate. The components were much the same; the thinned eyes the scathing regard, the surety that they were better.

In most cases he’d have stood stiff and proud and with that damning grin thrown their expectations to the dirt, proving he to be their better.

If he were feeling merciful he might have absorbed them into his on organization as an asset. Had he not, (most common, more common) he’d have simply minded the blood from their crumpled form on the way out.

Those about him could not speak, thus his first weapons of words, was not his to use. They could declare judgment, indicate ire, but he would not understand the roars and twisted screams of this gathering.

About around, illuminated from their own light rather than the failing illumination of a flickering fixture, were legends made flesh but were beyond his touch. He’d tried once, to touch the impossibilities paraded about him, but had only had his knees buckle and found that the soot sheathed floors matched the crack crazed wall before him.

Not able to stand he lingered in a pseudo sort of worshipful repose, and perhaps appeased they slowed fom nauseating rotation to a more sedate twirl. Before him, about him, the dance slowed and stalled until at last it stilled. The most familiar (part bogeymen and wholly the things in place of explanation of idle childish wonders of the most base basic things) stood before him. Wings of fire swirled about the originator of storms, switching between seeking to scar heaven scarlet and falling amongst the debris of his own rise. Of those three the man in the dark understood the flame winged beast best. Above the warring brothers, keeping the skies from burning by sacrificing the frosty artistry of her own extremities, a falcon of ice resided over all. Still above her was steam. It twined into a fearful corona, where inner illumination met florescent and to that light and ascent he was all but blind. Still there were hints, hints of shape, and awareness that was both the breath of death yet not dead, and that there was light in that dark and both glowered fiercely at him. Malice beat down on him, like sun sans nutrient, sans burn, save breathing burned.

Will you speak?

He’d of laughed, finally finally words after an eternity of mad whirling. Now they wished to speak? Save they weren’t. Not aloud, not spoken, still to this call of sorts he stood. Using wall and minding blood, his, and though his legs shook sheer pride got him up and the wall kept him steady and his fingers assured he was awake because his grip was so tight it hurt.

You have committed crimes

And here they were again, where they’d stood before. He’d been here so many times, accused, listening to accusation.

They tried to guilt him, so juvenile, acting as if his actions would ever hurt him. They never had, not once, not since…

Well simply put it never did now, and since time seemed tight he’d live with simple.

This place, it’s impossibilities aside, had once been a room. This place with its flickering light, not fortunes and resources unimaginable were reduced to metal scrapings and rubble. Some seam had surly sprung, because the one step he’d taken to the dark (their light burned bad enough, he’d not have that failing florescence bother him as well) had let a soft splash in its wake. Unable to decide what was worse (sound and implication, or the fact he couldn’t feel the leg he made work) he took to dark for one last but of comfort, a respite for his eyes. In this ruble of failed ambition he was dying, surly. After all impossibilities and voices in the head and the like. Still he’d face death standing, unlike the other sacrifice, for now, so long as he could let it, it would be him and the carrion.

He was not ready to die.

Death is a force

“And I’ve used it, inflicted lethal means to my enemies, another crime is it? Will we be tallying the numbers then? Tell me, what’s the catch? Where should we start? Am I responsible for those I’ve personally arranged, indirectly caused, or is it simply those who’ve committed murder while claiming to be my proxy by wearing the uniform I’ve gifted them? Define murder you bastards.”

Words will not avail you Leonardo Giovanni.

So spoke the dark and light, a curious co-mingling of opposites he could not see much less comprehend.

Because he couldn’t (or perhaps they wouldn’t, become visible or cross that boundary so he could comprehend) he didn’t. Simply ignoring them and after a few staggering steps found himself by grey tinged corpse, it was a curious coagulation of man and monster, steel colored save without the gloss, the upper torso was crushed, beyond it was a stair a rise and perhaps out. Though the debris was steel plates with stone piled atop them he worked, worrying one rock the size of both his hands, his tugging caused it to clatter free and he stepped aside for the modest rock fall that resulted.

You will hear our voice.

Multiplicity and singularity all at once, rolling his eyes he gripped an edge, was bloodied for his efforts, but still pulled. The air that gushed out was less than clean but fresher than what he partook. Using his own blood to slick stones he worked one, than another, small things but as he dropped them on the body Mewtwo so coaxed a memory… well it didn’t matter. Creator killed creation, thus sparing himself the trite of mob and torches and other silliness that was supposed to fall upon both creature and maker when the world caught on.

Our voice-

“Is irrelevant.” So huffed the condemned to his judges, while working. “You play god. Arceus says he is god, notice how I’m not bowing.” More digging ensued, little progress but it was something. And because it was something Giovanni took what heart he could. “You want my Mew damned opinion.” Giovanni rambled, still digging, and wishing feverishly that he’d though to bring Onix or Ryhdon… or hell that Diglar they were still experimenting on back at headquarters… well the still standing not ravaged by physic summoned earthquake and inferno headquarters. “Well want it or not, if power made a pokemon god I’d be a god of men, same rules, equal economic opportunities and all that.”

That… made less sense than it meant too, but was plausible.. firm… maybe. Considering he was talking to fragmentation's of a surly splintering psych Giovanni didn’t really care for coherence. He wanted out, now. Thus resolved he dug quicker and more carelessly.

I really wish people wouldn’t say that. A chime sweet voice resounded, save no mouth opened and sweet voices weren’t really meant to whine. Feline ears slicked back against its pink skull, Mew flicked its furless flowing tail. I don’t do that.

Busy swearing at the rocks that bashed his toes Giovanni resolutely did not care.

And I don’t think I should do that with Articuno, it sounds unsanitary. Mew noted.

“Then the lot of you do humanity a favor and throw yourselves into Cinnibar volcano. Except the fire types, find an icy ocean.” Giovanni snarled, feet freed, corpse all but buried (the rocks about it oozing blackly about the base) the head of Team Rocket sank to his knees, panting but not quite able to catch his breath no matter how he strained.

I believe it’s dying

Though in his head there was a definite rumble about his feet when whatever impossibility that was but wasn’t spoke. The arm of his creature flopped lifelessly in response to the rise and fall of the “speakers” words.

Dialga, time please. Thus entreated the dead thing that he could sort of see through the encroaching darkness.

“You.. you aren’t…” They stared at him, lines and frames swimming and swirling awfully now. Their eyes had teeth and their regard nipped and nibbled. “No…Go ‘way.”

Time slowed as they went back to nattering, sweetness meeting roars and chirps, he smelled char and ozone and rot and earth and ocean and hot bitter exhale as they circled close now, so close he might be able to touch if his hand would lift.

Finally, he was recalled again, between pants that seemed too slow and thoughts that were too incoherent to be anything save primal.

Leonardo Giovanni. So murmured a voice that was both memory and starlight, hellishly familiar, yet frustratingly vague. You have done both good and evil, we have given you a gift and you’ve tainted it, but in redemption all accidental you have in turn destroyed that which was flawed before others could suffer due to its madness. You have ended madness inconsolable, yet left us with the grief of never knowing our youngest brother and left a void of our order. Such complexities are unknown to us, so as you are not one of our own how in human laws would you stand?

To that Giovanni grinned, finding something like coherence, and humor, he rasped one word.

“Guilty.”

Because he was. Of murder, by proxy and directly and in all the shades in between. If they thought themselves gods than add diety-cide to homicide to poke-cide, because he’d done all that and worse and would do all that and worse.

All because Ghestis has chained to him a dragon of air and light, a king of storms.

They’d not catch one their own, chasing mew had been folly, a quest epitomizing his predecessors foolish vanity, so he’d quit that and legends and tales of gods that might be caught and carried.

They’d make their own.

And they had, hadn’t they, a mad wretched thing, perfect apex of humanities vices and corruption coagulated into the form of a man-cat demon with the wiles of a thieving child and a mind that could wreck buildings. It certainly had done so to this one whilst in the midst of a temper tantrum.

And what does one do, when one is guilty? So murmured the chime, the voiceless query of the thing he’d seen his father send man after man after only for them to never return. And in that moment, that eternal moment between his first and last breath, wondered of murder by proxy.

“Don’t get caught.”

Then just weary, of eyes and regard and bickering bestial voices he shut his eyes, letting the dark behind his eyes sweep him away.

 

[K_S]

He woke to a beep of medical equipment that sounded like the world’s most discontent pulse. The tingling pressure of an oxygen mask about his face and the wry acknowledgement that everything hurt but didn’t (a medicinal sort of daze ruled his mind making such contradiction possible) told him delusions aside he was alive.

And considering he could form coherent sentences in his head, hopefully the oxygen deprivation hadn’t left too many damages

Then came the singing. A sound worthy of delusions, and fervor dreams but because the world was bereft of mercy it was true and present and happening right now. He was serenaded to off tune renditions of atrocious pop hits, and had no power to lift his hands and clap them over his ears. Or better yet to sit up and roar at the singer to go elsewhere, right now. The fact he didn’t have the strength to open his eyes, much less lift his head set a chill down his back.

“Easy there… you’ll be alright.” Warmth folded about his shoulder, the barest of pressures. A rattle and squeaky scrape of plastic tubing, the tug of something in his mouth and throat made him shudder. “I know it’s bad but it’ll get better, I promise.”

Pushing aside such empty sentiment Giovanni considered his situation. Any Rocket facility would know his preferences, silence and isolation, as for touching… He wasn’t to be touched, not unless it was for treatment and only with his consent so long as he was able to give it. If he wasn’t he was to given as much treatment as possible and he’d review matters afterwards when the pain meds were on the decline.

Any violations of his boundaries, even a touch to sooth pain, were considered serious infractions.

So, this wasn’t a Rocket facility then.

That revelation lingered in his mind, dazed by pain and lured by dark coherence left him for a while.

XXX

The second time he work it was dark. The omnipresent pressure that said light to his throbbing head and burning eyes was absent, and for that he considered opening his eyes. After a moments dazed contemplation on nothingness he decided the pillow was nice. Nice and soft and any nuzzling that occurred to it was entirely coincidental.

Bits and pieces lingered in his mind. Recollection fragments of fantasy. Threats, veiled as conversation with impossibility. And digging, digging and dark and dirt and dust and blood (his and theirs, a multitude of theirs…) all under his hands. On his hands… Muzzly wondering what sounded wrong about that he flexed numb feeling fingers and should have been alarmed, might have been… There was something wrong with his hands…

But what alarm that inconsistency of should have been and was now was masked under the allure of soft dark (and the meds, whatever dose this was it wasn’t going to be repeated, ever) that dragged higher thought down and nearly caused a yawn.

Teeth scraping against plastic (a feeding tube, so said rattle and the twitch of his whole throat) told him “might of” likely was, the pain meds made reality a bit unreal. A croak slid past his lips and to that sound a wordless noise of concern sounded, then a touch on his lower jaw steadied him as someone shuffled the thing down his esophagus.

This person’s presence, something about it had woken him; it was likely the fussing he decided. Even as hands shuffled blankets and shifted his pillow so his heavy feeling head didn’t seem quite so lopsided Giovanni decided he wasn’t going to be too surly about the fussing right now.

Later, likely, but now he leaned into the touch that felt familiar (hauntingly so) and let the world slide away.

XXX

Far away from the sleeping person, from his tender, a world away yet a town away, a boy huddled in front of his television though the hour was too late for such a thing to be reasonable. He dreamt without sleeping, for his eyes were wide open and he all but bounced in his seat never mind there was no seat, the floor took the trouncing just fine.

A rap on the door frame, the only option since the door was wide open anyway, got him to turn about.

“Ash, sweat heart, it’s more than time to go to sleep.”

“But Mom, Professor Oak just got started talking about Charmanders and-“

“And I know, you want a ‘mander,” she smiled, because she did know. Her little boy wasn’t like so many others. “But being half asleep when you get on won’t do you any good. You do want to make a good impression don’t you?”

“Well yeah…”

“So that leaves you?”

“Going to bed ,” a sigh, “but Mooom.”

Still he did take to bed, complaint not fully voiced but surely felt. Only a mild reminder got him to turning off the television and soon her little boy was safely snuggled under the covers, the dark behind his eyes chased off of dreams to come true come morning.

 

[K_S]

Waiting with Gary was a trial. Waiting with Gary and two others trainers who didn’t know Gary was of a don’t pull hair out while waiting sort of thing. Gary was bragging and bragging loudly and well… without a Pokémon to show how cool his choice was verses Gary’s mystery choice snapping back at the red head just was sort of pointless.

It’d been an interesting morning, he’d been late, but then so had the Professor, which was sort of weird really. While Professor Oak wasn’t always punctual the thuds, muffled cries, and shrill screams of “Ran Ran Ran!” as well as the white coated form of what was likely the professor’s aide darting in front of the glass windows indicated something was up.

Whatever had happened though, well it hadn’t affected the first room of the house, (the door had been thrown open, said white coated person –a teen, close to twenty but not quite touching the age, just a few years short- had ushered them in, actually he’d just called out “come in” and everyone had taken the invitation it seemed) the excitement was deeper in. Still there were hints that whatever had happened had made a dart for out. Unless that potted plant meant nothing. The kicked up throw rug by the entrance might also have been related. Maybe.

The trainer form out of town, a girl in deep dark green had nicely straightened out the rug. Muttering something about “old peoples and their feet” and while Ash was really hoping the damages probably wasn’t anything bad. Mom was at an older man’s side, trying to coax the man to take the room’s sole seat. It was the Professor’s seat, Ash’d sat in it before, seen Professor Oak siting in it too.

For the record, the chair the old guy didn’t want to use was the awesomest chair ever. Ash’d of said it too, but Gary was bragging and the girl’s Gary brought along for some odd reason were cooing and that was more annoying and louder than anything else in the world.

The chair that whatever his name was protesting turned, rotated, that’s what the professor called it. Normally Professor Oak took calls from it, whirling between video phone and guests he’d sorta forgot were coming around with a sheepish smile he’d try and fail to be there for both phone caller and house caller. For an old guy the man had no problems with being fast; wiping back and forth so quick that a younger Ash had gotten dizzy just watching. As for now, well Ash had to wonder how the man did it and tell the remembered dizziness to go away.

“He won’t mind Mr...”

“Olivine.” Huffed the older than Professor Oak man. Curiously his hair wasn’t as grey as the professor’s, but was a glossy black that shined, the lines about his eyes and stoop to his shoulders told his age more than his hair color. “Franklin Olivine. And this is my granddaughter, Viridian.”

Gary’s snicker at that got two adult glares pointed his way for his troubles.

“Seriously, no one know the name of the city to the north?” Gary smirked, addressing one of the pretty girls he had with him.

“That’s like the lamest joke ever, Gary.” Ash groaned. Because he’d seen this a hundred times before, Gary’d start with a joke, than he’d work his way to teasing and never ever let it go. Ever.

“Well whatda you know?”

“Lots more than you!”

“Boys.”

Mom didn’t even have to leave the old man’s side, he was sitting now, and the glare of both of them was enough that neither had to move an inch.

“Tch, what do they know.”

Then Gary was walking along the room, to the other side, to chat up a boy with a red cap on who hadn’t spoken to anyone or even replied when someone (well Ash) had walked up and said “hi”. Touching his first edition poke league cap, more for luck than anything else, Ash went back to waiting and hoped for patience besides.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one bored, one of Gary’s cheerleaders started tossing a pom-pom to herself and a few other adults he didn’t know (but who knew the other kids likely) were pulling out cell phones and tending to adult stuff while they waited.

The guy in the blue tie really seemed attached to his phone and when the boy in red shuffled up to him to get away from Gary he was firmly nudged aside.

“Play with your friends.” The man murmured, not once looking up form whatever it was he was doing.

“Didja hear that, we’re friends! It’s a bit of a step down.” Gary admitted with a grin, wrapping a hand around the boy in red’s wrist and wheeling him away from the man that sorta looked like him (it was hard to really tell though, considering the man never looked up, not once) “But hey, that’s what friends do, right? Make sacrifices? And great guy that I am, I don’t mind much.”

A wordless noise of protest not unfitting a ratatta was the boy’s reply before Gary latched himself on the kid and proceed to chew his ear off with all his chatter.

Gary loved the ones who didn’t talk back; it left more room for him to talk about himself.

“Is he always like that?” The girl, a brunette named Viridian, whispered a bit too loud to be secret like. But when you couldn’t take a step without plowing into someone secrecy became silly.

“He gets worse the longer you know him.” Ash confessed, not even bothering to whisper.

“I heard that Ketchum!”

“Ashton Satoshi Ketchum, remember your manners young man.”

“Sorry Mom.”

Never mind there were a few feet and people between them, Mom had that look. The look that told him he’d been sorta bad. Heaving a sigh, saying he didn’t wanna and tantruming all without the show, he met her eyes then turned to Gary.

“Sorry Gary.”

Gary chatting about how awesome his strategies were to whats-his-name didn’t bother to hear.

“Ketchum?” The girls’ voice went shrill with a choked back giggle that wasn’t really all that held back.

Ignoring the Gary like tease to his repeated name Ash nodded.

“Yep and I wanna catch ‘em all. Well all the Pokémon, and get in the league and…”

“Me too!” The girl bounced in place, “I wanna get a Bulbasaur, because plants are so pretty, what about you?”

“Well I really want to get a-“

The door hissed open and adults and the trainers of tomorrow, or rather the trainers of late morning soon to be afternoon, looked up.

“Geeze Gramps, keep us waiting all morning will you?” Gary whined. “It’s cramped and toasty in here.”

For the record the Professor was about forty minutes late, but Gary did have a point of sorts. It did seem longer now that everyone (trainers and families and Gary’s fan girls) were all jammed in the room meant to be one that people either used the phone in or used the exit.

Regardless the door had opened and it revealed Professor Oak in a sullied and scratched white coat. He sported a curious pair of bruises on his forehead (small and oval shapes, with just a hint of a nick about one bushy grey eyebrow) and he had his mouth open to start his standard welcome trainers speech.

As to how Ash knew that it was, well he’d never gotten one before obviously, but Mom and him had brought cookies to him the one day he’d had to do the speech on his birthday. It’d just been him and Mom and a tub of ice cream (save it wasn’t ice cream, that would of melted) filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookies. So they’d sat on the floor, them and the tub while the Professor had tried to get through the speech really fast and not look too hungrily at the Ketchum’s gift.

It’d been Ash’s best day ever because he’d gotten to hear the speech (well most of it) once and really fast too.

Good thing he’d heard it once, because Professor Oak looked about the room, and did a quick count of something (probably the pretty girls who weren’t supposed to be there) and turned to his grandson.

“Gary Samston Oak!”

“Why’s it always me?” Gary whined, smirking all the while.

“When isn’t it?” Oak huffed. To that Gary shrugged, smiling his father’s best smile, the one that always irritated the professor to no end. Raking his hands through his flyaway grey locks (really fly away, half of it looked like it was holding on by a thread and up really high) the professor groaned.

“All immediate family members can stay, here; I’ll have David bring in some chairs so you can all sit. All hired personal can wait on the lawn.”

To that the man in blue, who was so attached to his phone looked up. He looked a lot like the boy in red. “Oh, I’ll just be heading out now, if we’re done that is?”

“Parents are more than welcome to stay.”

The man had dark dark brown eyes, Ash thought, near black, they were somehow darker and colder than the boy in reds yet still the same. Oak met the man’s gaze without flinching, though Ash tried to look at the man he found himself cringing against the wall and the girl Viridian was doing the same and Mom was almost at her feet and the older man reaching for his cane and wanting to stand so bad. Though why, Ash wasn’t sure.

“I’ve things to do.”

“More important than overseeing the first segment of your son’s Pokémon journey?” Oak’s voice was soft, but hard, his grey eyes were thinned and lips not curled up in a smile. Ash could count the times the Professor hadn’t smiled on one hand and still come away with two- well now one finger.

“Just do your job and keep your mouth shut Professor, I doubt you could afford more… accusations.”

If that was meant to be mean, to make the professor flinch, Oak didn’t, wouldn’t, ever. Because h was an adult and braver than brave like that. Done with talking, and his son, the man in blue turned on his heel, was going to gone and a few steps out the door probably wrapped up in adult phone things once more.

“Nathan Anderson.” The boy in red quailed at the Professor calling him, through it all the boy hadn’t said a word, and Gary hadn’t minded (or said he minded, which he would have) the hand clamped over his own. “Come along young man.”

And there was the professor, smiling again. It was different than the normal smiles, but still he tried even if the wet about his eyes made it a sad sort of try.

“You’re going to be in good hands now.”

To that oddest of summons the boy in red began the first step to his Pokémon journey.

Considering everything Ash decided not to protest his going first (never mind he’d been supposed to go first), shifting his cap about he bounced on his toes and waited, for first Nathan (who never said anything) to be led deeper into the Professor’s house to the long long hall on the left that lead into the lab next door. He bounced through Nathan’s leaving and coming back.

The red fire lizard and boy mad a curious pair leaving. Lizard was hovering tenderly close to his trainer and trying to warm Nathan with his tail. This lead to a hurried explanation about humans not being fire resistant by the professor and an apologetic “char’” from the Charmander.

Ash was all but humming at Vi’s back (Viridian’s but she had told him to call her Vi’ it’d went something like this:

“Call me Vi’.”

“That is not your name, young lady!”

“When Granddaddy isn’t around I mean.”)

-and when she came out with a Bulbasaur he wasn’t too surprised.

“I named him Flower, because when he grows up he’s gunna have a flower on his back and it’s gunna be this big!” She cheered to her grandfather, stretching her arms wide (wider than hugging wide) just to show off how huge the flower was going to be.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine together sweetheart. Now you remember what I said, about calling at every center, we’ll nip down to Pallet’s together so you can see what they’re like, alright dear?”

“Yes Granddaddy.” At her feet, Bulbasaur yawned, and reared a little mid step so that his wedge shaped head bumped his trainers leg. “Oh, sorry Flower, dind’t mean to not introduce you two. Flower, Granddaddy, Granddaddy Flower.”

“Ungh mushy stuff! Gramps, can I go already?” Gary hollered.

“I’m half a mind to say no.” The professor huffed. “Where are your manners young man?”

“They were boring, so I gave mine to Ashy boy, he took them up just fine, the loser.”

If Ash had stopped hovering, well that was the reason why his foot came down super heavy on Gary’s foot. Really, that was it.

“Ow!”

“Ash, for that you’ll be waiting a bit longer, come on Gary, I’ll look at that foot and you can pick your starter while I do so.”

And if Ash pouted… Well it didn’t last long because the Professor was giving Gary a look, and once the door closed. Well Ash was sure the Professor didn’t know it wasn’t soundproofed. And every word of the man’s lecture made it through the door.

When they came back, Gary humming smugly about what he got and not willing to tell Oak looked long and hard, first at Ash, than at Ash’s mother.

“Mrs. Ketchum, Ash, if you both would follow me, we’ll need to have a bit of a chat before we head out.”

Wondering what was different, and what might be wrong, Ash followed. No longer humming his excitement, though it hadn’t gone away, not all the way anyway. And whatever it was that was wrong. Well Ash knew it would be fine. He knew that everything was going to be alright.

Leaning into the touch, mom’s hand on his shoulder, they both went into Oak’s long steel hallway even though it wasn’t how things normally began it was fine by Ash. Because sometimes how things normally went just didn’t happen, and that was alright.

 

[K_S]

Dodging Consequence

First meeting

Halfway down the hall Mom made the Noise, that exasperated, tired, sound that meant so many things all at once.

Mainly Ash had heard it when it was after he’d done something stupid and silly and was home safe and sound.

“Professor Samuel Oak,” The man stopped, they all did, and mom let go of Ash’s shoulder to take the man’s hand. “If you’d so kindly turn around and not tilt your head up at that odd angle…” With a small smile the man did so. Now that his head wasn’t tilted up like the ceiling was the best thing ever the small cuts above the circle shaped bruises were shown to be bleeding. With a sigh that said “why me” Mom opened her purse and pulled out a little wet cloth, the type that came sealed in shiny plastic so nothing else could mix with them.

Wrinkling his nose as the medical scent Ash leaned against the wall, letting the adults do their thing. Mom mothered indiscriminately, and once the Professor’s cuts weren’t bleeding anymore and he’d said no to her elite four bandages they were on their way.

Save Mom was nagging about infections and stuff like that.

Finally the professor’s silence was just a bit too much, and the walk was long enough for Ash to realize that it was too much and his mouth opened up spilling the first thought in his head.

“What’s wrong Professor Oak?”

“Well, truthfully,” They were near the door, at it, the man fumbling in pockets until he pulled out a card key you only saw in big buildings and movies. “quite a bit.” A swipe and beep, pulling the door open (the lab door saved it borrowed a lot from a refrigerator, with handle and shiny steel front) he gestured and Mom went in first, Ash on her heels. “Adult stuff I’m afraid, so though I know you’d like to help… well I’m afraid you can’t.”

“Why not!” Ash huffed. “I’m good at helping.”

“Yes, you are.“ The Professor agreed a click and the door was closed behind them.

The three huddled about the door, because it was the only part of the room lit. Reaching out the professor flicked another switch, a switch by the light switch, and the room, all steel and grey and dark lit up. The squarish lump a few feet away was revealed to be a table with three empty pokeball holders atop it. Besides that were two chairs, well a stool and a chair, with a murmured “may I” the Professor was leading Ash’s mom and Ash to those chairs, well he’d of led Ash if Ash were interested in the chair. Skirting around mom, but not too fast so he wasn’t running, he left both adults. Fascinated first by the glass wall and the stuff beyond it. Tables and mechanical boxes that flashed but slowly, cycling through cool colors of ice and water and what ice and water were supposed to be if your trusted the crayon box. Tubes stretched from boxes, stretch and then were looped about and around thin metal arms that jutted out from the boxes.

A chuckle, and though Mom called Oak didn’t, that’s how Ash knew his looking about was alright. His hunch was confirmed when Mom didn’t call again and a creek indicated the professor was sitting on the stool.

“As you know Ms. Ketchum, my funding’s been precarious and well…”

Since funding meant money and that was strictly an adult thing Ash paced about glass walls, finding a see-through door he shuffled about fascinated by the mechanics of a lock. The lock was metal but the stuff about it was translucent and though a tug proved it to be open how the gears and bits turned when he clicked it open by accident got him to close it again so he could see the whole move once more.

“Certainly it’s not been that bad.” Mother murmured, the thread of fear in her voice got him to leave his game and look at her. Just her.

“Worse than that I’m afraid,” Oak was standing, pacing about, white cloak lip flapping and surely tapping his ankles. “since the incident there have been some very ugly accusations laid at my door. I’ll be blunt, if Mr. Nathan’s father hadn’t paid thrice the normal fees in advanced to have his son sent on this journey I’d of have to shut down the labs last month.”

Mom’s eyes went wide, her hand flew to her face and she gasped. “Oh Sam I didn’t know…”

“I haven’t been bandying about my problems Delia. They’re mine and to be honest anyone who helps me might be seen as a sympathizer. I won’t ruin anyone else’s life to save my own hide.”

“Samuel William Oak, that is not just your decision to make!”

“I rather thought it was.” The professor’s voice shook. “Considering Violet’s response was “I’m so sorry for your loss, but you made your choices and you have to live with them”.” The man’s voice rose in pitch to mime his daughter’s whiny Gary-like tone. Sill the mimicry did nothing to hide the pre-tears crack. Mom stood then, slid one arm over the man’s shoulders than the other. Taking a deep breath, the professor studied a corner beyond both his guests like it might suddenly offer answers to everything. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”

“Shh… shhh…” Though they stood Mom swayed back and forth, making the professor move with her. It was as close to rocking as she could manage, as close to soothing as she could manage without letting him go.

There was something in the man’s voice that made it sound like he’d disappear if she ever let go. And Mom being Mom, well she wasn’t going to let that happen.

So she held the man tight and though Ash couldn’t see he was sure the professor was crying. Mom was too, silently. She looked up at him, and with a nod to say “yes, it wasn’t okay but it would be, eventually” then she tipped her head. A silent request he go outside.

Considering there wasn’t an outside to go to he decided try the door again, a tug got it open, and he was out but not out of sight.

Pleased with that little bit Ash smiled and for a moment Mom looked at him, through the glass, and she understood. She always understood. With a smile to say “thank you” and “be careful” and “I love you” they parted without really leaving each other. Mom was saying something to the professor then and leading the grey haired man to a chair, pulling out his chair then scooting her’s closer.

Thus the adults were busy with adult things and making things right.

Positive that all’d be well and well not trapped, but trapped sounded exciting, Ash walked about tables and elevated stretches of steel that were scales (he knew that because they dipped under his feet, one even was on, it read seventy three point eight two ninety seven dot dot dot) poking about places where empty and wondering what you did with places like that.

Science, professor-like stuff that professor’s liked so the boy supposed.

When empty got boring and computer screens he had to crane his head back to read (the writing was white on sky blue, all the lists ended in zeros, which Ash founds sort of sad) he counted blue screens (twenty one) and in his counting found a darkish corner with a red screen he’d missed first round about the room.

A quick tug on the table’s side made a drawer unroll. While not a stair he was able to clamber up like it was one. Once up saw that some of the tubes up high were unrolled, the thinnest of the strings, with shiny steel tips that lead into a.. A purple thing. Small and prickly and sleeping, it sorta looked like a ratatta save it had a horn between its eyes and its feet ended in hoof like paws instead of hand shaped ones. Also the ears weren’t rounded (or so-cute, so said mom) but japed and as prickly as the things back. The whatever it was was sleeping, eyes scrunched tight, and as he leaned forward to figure if those were scales on it’s side or really wired spots on its skin the thing’s nose wrinkled and twitched and… well wasn’t sleeping anymore.

One black cracked open, then the other, and even without words Ash could tell this thing was grouchy.

“Hi there.” Ash murmured. “Can I?”

Black eyes considered him, then his hand, which was close but not close enough to bite or poke with its inch long head horn if it wasn’t to be mean about its answer. The request was obvious, the fingers wiggling, itching to pet, didn’t need words. Clearly the creature did need them either, but decided to use one anyway.

“Ran.”

Never mind the sounds, that was a no. A coughed up one, but a no all the same.

“Oh, all right.” Ash sighed. “I bet Gary lets his whatever he got from Professor Oak pet him. But you’re sick so I guess that’s alright.”

Then, daring, because the purple hide might of meant poison, Ash patted the things side, minding the see through string and it’s steel tip quite nicely. “Hope you get better soon.”

Teeth snapped where his hand was, the bite was slow and it’s snap ended in a croaked whine of pain.

Considering it was sick Ash decide to be nice never mind it’s bite, and he sat on the edge of the thing’s bed, legs dangling off the hospital like bed. Considering hospitals were the most boring place ever Ash decided to give the creature some company.

“So I’m Ash, and I guess you know the professor already, but he hasn’t told me your name, which was a little rude but he’s busy with adult stuff soooo what’s your name?”

Silence, some staring, the thing shuffled so it lay on its side keeping the string thing not pinned and sparing a glare for that then the boy before crossing his forelegs and setting a pointed snout on the lot.

“You’re not gunna tell me?” Ash whined. “That’s not fair!”

“Nido. Ran.” With a snort the thing closed its eyes.

“Got it.” Ash cheered, maybe bounced, likely bounced as black eyes cracked open and glowered at him. “So you’re a Nidoran, bet you’re a boy, Mom used to have a girl one when she was a little girl and it was blue and you’re purple so you’re a boy, right?” No reply, well except little fore paws scrabbled at the side of the creature’s head, scraping just under its ears. “Oh do you have an itch, I could reach better than you-”

Teeth snapped at him and his hand. Then the thing shot to its paws, and despite its whimper at moving too quick it kept standing. Went from standing to crawling at him, a gloss of red coloring the bottom of its eyes gave the boy all the warning he needed.

The pokemon was using a leer attack, an attack.

It wanted to attack him.

It managed a few steps before the thing in its haunch grew taunt, then tugged and with a gasp from both boy and monster it was free and red and.. A needle, a long nasty looking needle hung and swayed. The nidoran swayed too.

Something whooped, some alarm from the box, from above.

Scooting back, an inch maybe from falling, the boy lingered, because the thing might have wanted to hurt him, but it was hurt too. And that changed everything.

“Stop, please.” He begged the ‘mon, finally tearing his gaze away from the needle to meet the monster’s eyes. “You’re hurt, you shouldn’t move around!”

A snarl and stagger served as answer, black eyes scrolled up to him, red flushing over white, making the snarl a truly horrid glare, then they went further, scrolled past him to ceiling, considered something past ceiling. Form going as stiff as its jagged ears, the creature’s eyes rolled back and its eyes slammed shut hiding the whites.

A grunt, sapped of syllables, of name, and the creature fainted wordlessly, but not before twisting its head about and scratching the back of Ash’s hands with its horn. Hand burning, head swimming, Ash looked from beast, to scratch, to scrambled commotion behind him.

The machine was off, a quick look showed it was back to blue, which faded to black with a click. From screen to hand pushing its off switch (then pushing it aside, soundlessly pushing it aside) Ash followed hand to arm to coat to face nd found Professor Oak looking down at him.

“Ash, what-“ The pokemon professor looked to boy and nidoran, confusion obvious than clearing when he saw the boy’s hand and the beast’s bloody horn. “Delia!” The professor roared, roared better than the nidoran had tried Ash decided. “I need the poison treatment kit under the starter’s table, right now!”

Ash wanted to ask the professor not to yell so loud, his head was spinning and it made his stomach roil, but before he could get to asking the world spun about, stealing color as it went.

Wordlessly he fainted, the last thing he felt was the professor scooping him up from the table and when he was lifted up the worlds just went right with it.

 

[K_S]

When he was younger

-he’d never been young, never a child, he simply was younger than he was now-

He’d never been naive, simply had something of a dream. An idea too soft to be ambition, and too tender to be shared. In this piece of paradise-

-long lost and in a proper poetic manner-

He dared to indulge his fancy.

The room, theirs, was dark but not gloomy because she insisted on enough light to see, not having his zubatian sonar to sense every detail without looking. He’d teased her about it, perhaps dimmed the lights while pretending to be fiddling with the remote, and the strategic movement of some pillows had engineered her fall. Besides him, on the couch, she was nicely sprawled and looking at him with a scowl meant to be menacing but which he found adorable. Her complaints were easily ignored, and countered with a rarity.

The truth.

“You can’t prove anything.”

Prey properly caught and stunned he let his hands linger, and she placidly moved under his touch. The art of statuary, save his material was quite warm and living and curled obliging against him in a proper snuggle once both were comfortable. He wound an arm about her waist and stared at the screen. Whatever had caught her fancy before he’d come in seemed more a swirl of color and light, devolved into unimportant drivel when she nuzzled him under his chin with the top of her head.

“You’re purring.” A giggle, one he nearly joined in, the silky softness of her hair and the scent were quite delectable. “Is there something you’re not telling me about that research department or do we need to socialize more?”

To that shot, though shed never know how close it telled, the half vocalized rumbled scaled up to a soft laugh he’d been trying to keep in. So she’d caught him out had she? Cunning girl, he nuzzled a bit too hard he supposed, because her threat to pull out a pillow and set it between them was a declaration of war coming from her.

“Well? Which is it?”

“Neither.” Tightening his grip he hummed thoughtfully at the back of her head.

“Alright Mr. Most Powerful Trainer in the World-“

“And don’t you forget it!” He huffed.

“What’s making you channel your inner Pesian tonight?”

“I don’t have an inner-”

“You get up, like clockwork, to feed him golden slivers at two and five in the morning. After, you always have to brush, and no, I’m not speculating why out loud, just know I know. He’s always with you no matter what, you both have that smug look, you both kneed, and if you don’t say something I’ll go into excruciating detail about that pair of fluffy white slippers you-“

“Alright!” He laughed, not quite panicking, but a choice joke at the wrong time (because she wouldn’t just go about it here, and now, no it would be brought up again and again and likely in public) would be a disaster he allowed himself to break. “You’re an evil evil woman, did you know that?”

She pouted, the dimming of the screen light and he looking over her shoulder at the illuminate nonsense gave him a snapshot mirror that was washed out by some… a soap opera… really? He looked down at his wife, wondering what other secrets she held.

“I had plans.”

“From that tone, evil ones. For simplicities sake love,” He indulged a kiss –stolen kisses were the thing of those unbound, his ring on her finger marked her as his, as did her name, which had been taken away to become his as well. And to that recalled revelation he might have smirked like a Persian with the cream, granted Pesian preferred half and half chilled at fridge temperature but it was the thought, not that analogy, that counted- before easing back down behind her, “leave the evil at my doorstep.”

“There was a talk show I was going to do.”

“For the children’s charity, the promotion?” She always insisted on running from cause to cause, not just during the holiday season as he had before, her humanitarian efforts were so like clockwork he could gauge month by event, children’s charities were in July, educational ones would run through half of August- “And how would my choice of sleep wear find its way into that interview?”

“Because of the question.”

“Ah, that.” His tone cooled, and he wasn’t smiling, not then, not ever when that topic came up. “You know I gave you a wonderful staple of generic answers that don’t tell anything.”

“And I think they’ve cottoned on to the fact that our answers might be rehearsed, because they keep rephrasing it, I know that last interview said it was live, but…”

“The editing was sloppy,” He murmured, stroking her belly, lingering about her waist. “I’ve seen the real tapes, they pressured and hounded you cruelly… I’ll deal with it.”

His tone, though he strived to gentle it, triggered some long dormant fear; for her spine went rigid and they were so close it was making him uncomfortable.

“How do you plan on dealing with it?”

Her fear, his moment, he felt the pleasant perfection of before fading, and so, he strove to drive it back. Frivolity was something he was good at wielding, but for her, he’d try.

“I was thinking of sic’ing a lawyer team at them, but if you’d rather Ryhorn’s good at making a point.”

“Don’t.” An elbow prodded him in his gut, barely a poke, still he hissed, the proverbial Dragonnite taking a lance. “You,” another poke, clearly a substitution for punctuation, “Dare.”

His chuckle and wince promised nothing, still at his amusement she softened and assumed he’d take the more merciful route. For a moment he considered which Rocket operatives might be discrete enough in laying a smear campaign against that station and decided to think about it later. Another poke on her part got his mind in a more appropriate frame, revenge, on her, not them.

Some pinning he felt was in order, just to make that infernal poking stop. Stage two of his revenge would take some planning. So he pulled her close, a hair shy of crushing, enjoying her little squeak and the shake that was an intriguing mix or so many internal reactions rearing up all at once.

“If you could stop with the poking, I’d really appreciate it.” Figures that now that he was being genuinely menacing she just laughed at him, her sense of self-preservation was a wonder of unpredictability. But then considering this was the woman who’d walk up to a half tamed Nidoking and call it Sweetie and the beast now only responded to that… cloying... nominative. His masculine pride flinched back from the idea of using the beast publically.

As for privately… it was too well trained now not too and there’d been that crisis… Still it hadn’t been so dire that he hadn’t been able to get some revenge upon those who’d sniggered at him summoning the beast … The police loss had been Rocket’s victory and the Rockets loss, well they died in action and no one needed to know anything beyond that.

Reading his thoughts, around the edges mind, never outright, it was a curious habit of hers. With a sleepy sounding hum she wondered how Sweetie was doing. Rolling his eyes he huffed, an evasion without words.

“I know exactly where you’re ticklish Mr. Giovanni and I think I can get an arm out to get to those places.”

“Torture Mrs. Giovanni?”

Her wordless protest had him smiling, and a squirm got him the remote and the television off. He sighed at the comfort, the familiarity as the dark washed everything away, save him and her and the warm comfort at his back.

“He’s fine.”

A toss to where he thought a table might be and a thud telling him he missed got her to lightly scolding him, but she was here and he really didn’t care about anything else beyond that so he delegated her words to noise to be toned out.

“How was work?” She hummed.

“Work.”

“One of these days…” She strived for menace, because that’s how he always answered and like always she failed. He’d seen more terrifying caterpie.

“One of these days.” He echoed her, silenced her, because his tone was nearly gentle, nearly a pur. “Perhaps one of these days I’ll tell you about it. But not tonight. I’ve other things on my mind tonight.” He let his touch linger about her side, the possessive splay of finger upon her cloth sheathed flesh saying so much. Yet she, as always, decided to miss the more delicate of signs.

“Are you ever going to share?”

He opened his mouth, and like that the moment failed him, and his courage, and his tongue, he snapped his mouth shut refusing even in the privacy of his own home, his own quarters, to be a gap faced magikarp.

“Well?”

It took effort not to snap at her, to say he was trying damn it, tenderness fell under a moments failure and the familiar well spring of frustration marked with that familiar demon’s hissing voice (never good enough, ever never will be, ever, ever). Resolutely shaking off the ghost of his father, he found his voice before she found some sense and concern, or worse yet some childish jab that might have made him do something he might regret.

“How do you feel about children?”

His voice was a ruin, between old demons and new fears and hopes and should nots and might bes and the simple hell of being so frank. She might treasure honesty, but for him it hurt to indulge, and vulnerability was not his preferred venue, ever.

“Well I like them, I’ve never seen you go to a event with them about though so.. well…” she squirmed, “I never knew what you thought about them, being about them…”

“I mean having.” A near whisper, but ruination could hold precious little, much less a proper speaking volume. “Not being about, but having.”

In her following silence he mentally squirmed and writhed, it was too much, and for a woman who wore her heart and soul so flamboyantly that any could read. In the quiet he flavored it with a multitude of inflections, damning, suspicion, fear, worry, disgust.

When she turned about facing him, and only him, and embraced him with a squeal (him forsaking pinning and grip in his withdrawn fretting) her response, to break down in joy, he nearly panicked, sure that something was wrong. Not understanding, but she did, always did, and calmed her and herself and was ecstatic and how she was both calming him and all but bouncing… the peculiarities of it made his head hurt. Still when understanding came, his whole face hurt, for he was smiling too wide and didn’t give a damn.

They dissolved into back and forth babble, about names and genders and when and… well not how obviously… but delight was so addictive he didn’t care for his image in its glow.

“At least one boy, then as many girls as you’d like.” He decided, using a tone more suited to closing a deal than the previous babblings.

“We’ll talk about it.”

He lit up, nearly glowed at those possibilities. “We will?”

“Down Arcanine,” She laughed, lightly smacking at an arm that had wound about a bit too tight. “Yes we will, and soon I promise. But now…” She yawned and he could sense no artifice in the sound. “Well you were out late and I was up later waiting, so I’d like a nap.”

Guilt twanged in him, so unfamiliar he nearly savored, still he made the apology sound close to right and she never noticed how he stumbled over the alien words. Simply accepted and drifted off.

Unable to sleep, not after a mission like the one he’d come back from, with blood and killing and traitors rooted out, he considered dark and her query while alone yet not.

“Why Silver, why that name it’s so… unusual…”

His flippant “why not” had rung false in her ears and he could have plied excuse. It was precious without being feminine. It was sturdier than gold, more useful, and had a gleam that was not tainted with a flavoring of bloods hue. It was his favorite metal, complimenting red and black. He could have confessed to being heartily sick and tired of having his family’s men named after archaic inventors and engineers that weren’t even mentioned in books history anymore.

Still she hadn’t questioned his flippancy and he hadn’t elaborated, and because of this her sleep had come sooner and the silence sooner still.

In quiet, dark, and her, he basked and unintentionally followed one to the other to find slumber at the short journey’s end.

 

[K_S]

He woke shaking off dreamed recollection and wondering what had caused his mind to twist down paths well over a decade done.

Squinting about the purple obstruction between his vision his waking set something up high to rattling. Sight was a trial, his eye burned regularly when they were open, still he’d be damned if he didn’t see, lifting his top heavy head and rolling his eyes caught him a glimpse of something glossy and thick and swaying.

A tug in his leg told him where the tubing likely went into, and the pain –so much worse than before, he winced at its touch- told him getting up would be beyond stupidity. So he laid still, even when the device attached to the tubing went off.

That broke off the huddle about the cot in front of him, and the child was bared to his scrutiny. He seemed both small for his age and large from his present perspective, the hair was more akin to his mother’s but there were traces... Those traces, the might-have-beens, were easily dismissed when the white coated man approached (his departure had made it possible for the Nidoran to see, the boy’s mother was trying to make up for it again).

Looking past the familiar beaming smile he counted more white than grey, less black then before and might have scolded the man if looking up weren’t such a trial and speaking had gotten him nothing before this.

With daring familiarity that would have cost the fingers of any other, a hand came to rest on his head, and he didn’t lash out… Because it wasn’t any other, it was him and this was tolerable but only just barely. When the fingers went beyond prodding and into sow cycles that soothed his headache any ingress in personal space was forgiven and forgotten.

A rarity scarcer than mercy.

And mercy, well it recalled him of fantasy and fallacy, and he cracked open his eyes, staring not at the child, but it’s parent.

Whilst said hands owner worked, he read, silently, and a scolding tap told him not to get a crick in his neck trying to look up to follow along. No numbers were divulged, so the creature took the “passable” as an acceptable diagnosis and twitched his needled leg and looked it not all the way up, close enough to send up an inquiry to the sensitive.

Overly insensitive Samuel Oak set two fingers against the budding ache in his neck and rubed and rebuked.

“Not now, you’re horridly dehydrated and it’s your pain medicine.”

Which explained the taste in his mouth, morning aftertaste, meet rot, meet medicinal, a disturbingly familiar mix that uncomfortably recalled him to some mixes he’d experimented in in his college days.

“Sam.” The fingers stopped, and thus in mild punishment the Nidoran glared at the woman. She was stroking the boy’s head, the motion not to dissimilar to Oak’s ministration on his own head. Sans hair. He flinched back at that idea and the fingers thoughtfully withdrew. “I’m not too comfortable with… that creature in here with Ash.”

The confession caused Sam to chuckle, smoothing down his white coat. “Leo’s perfectly stationary Delia, he couldn’t move, and now that he’s not spooked he’s perfectly docile, and friendly, see he’s taking a liking to you.”

If unblinking scrutiny was a liking the Nidoran named Leo was surly doing so. As it was the woman’s face was quite a show, it nearly crumpled as sadness and a myriad of other somber emotions flew across it.

“Oh Sam, surly any other name then that.”

Her mourning could not be encapsulated in those words, in that tone, but rather bled into both and made the creature bristle in response at such blatant vulnerability.

“He’s my friend Delia. As I am his. I’m not explaining myself, simply respect my decision, please.”

The hand descended soothed riled spines until they smoothed down and the Nidoran resolutely looked elsewhere least instincts both base and trained rear and make then scratch his benufactuary’s hands.

“It’s… distasteful, and… I’m not comfortable about leaving Ash with a creature that… it could have ended so much worse than it did Sam.” Her voice broke and the creature who was responsible for its breaking stared at the floor, counted tiles, and scratches and lines that weren’t quite there. Anything quantifiable was considered too busy his brain and not think.

Because he was more than aware of the might-of-beens, and the death with this revelation, it hit him, made him pant.

Neither human noticed.

“It wasn’t, and it won’t be, some of the medicines are protective measures against a second contamination incident. And as a trainer, he might have encountered a poison type and the same could have happened save without the safety precautions we had set up here and now.”

Silence, neither adult said anything, finally Oak broke the silence.

“Let’s get him home, he’ll sleep off the meds and tomorrow, well tomorrow will bring what it may.”

 

[K_S]

Guilt was familiar, he’d heard of it often enough.

He’d never been made to feel, there was something in his head, something about the contours of his brain that warded the emotion off. Sentimentality was beyond him, a Neverland others could live that held some import, but it lingered beyond his touch.

Even now it seemed more an option than anything substantial, never mind a child upon a sickbed was a common piece of pathos in most media.

Feeling faintly nauseous from the trek (a span cradled in Sam’s arm, where they traversed a bright spring day and the sheer natural wholesomeness of Pallet rankled so that Sam had to prod his ears so they stood up, least they would still have been slicked to his skull and the boy’s mother would have slammed the door in his.. well their faces) he dipped his head down. Sam, over sensitive soul he was, took the hint. One loosed his grip and after a stumble he spilled from the man’s grip onto a nightstand. Rearing slightly on legs that shook, he used a round clock to sort himself to standing somewhat normally, letting his head droop on some seam so he wasn’t so weighted down.

Unlike said pokecenter soap opera the child was awake, wasn’t dead to the world via medicines, and if the squint was anything to go by was quite photosensitive due to the anti-venoms.

Having been dosed with them himself Leo was more than aware of that side effect. Considering the windows were wide open, and the curtains pulled back she wasn’t. Unable to say anything the knowledgeable of the lot was spared the quandary of trying to decide what he wanted to do. Thus he was excused for feeling and doing nothing.

“Hey professor…” The salutation was more croak than words, still with some lip reading it was possible to gather what was said. Or some empathy, as the man greeted let his lips lift in an understanding smile that was familiar in form but unfamiliar in whom it was directed upon. Telling his quills not to bristle, the heat against his back under his skin warning they probably were despite his thoughts, the poison type tipped his head to the side. Not as good as looking away would have been but as close as he could manage without losing his perch. “What’s up?”

“Oh this and that, but I think mainly it’s the roof at the moment.” To that horrid joke the boy smiled. Shifted closer though the squint was more pronounced. The room sported one chair, purloined from the kitchen and covered with vibrant stickers and errant crayon stripes, clearly the boys and not. Comfortless and gaudy, and not caring about either the aging man took the seat with a practiced ease that spoke of having been at this one’s bed side before. “Got some mail from our four trainers, some have made the gym, others haven’t, and no I’m not telling you what Gary’s up to.”

And considering everything, how tactless it would be to mention a dream that wasn’t happening, a rival, or simply the idea of being out and about when he was now not capable of that. The boy didn’t bristle, only asked for more details, that Oak provided. There was a lull to the mundane, a slumber inducing aspect of a professional ramble about the irrelevant and it wasn’t only the boy’s eyes that were drooping as the monologue went on about shipments and feeding schedules, species seen and hoped to be seen and miles and placing and habitat construction that was only somewhat under way.

Perhaps that was the plan, perhaps that’s why they were allowed in at all, because the boy was quiet and still and in that stillness slipped into sleeps embrace with a bit of a smile and a sound that might in age evolve into full blown snoring.

Shaking his head sharply, horn scraping against clock and leaving a scar that filled with violet venom, the Nidoran broke off from his studying of the wall above the brunette’s head to consider the party responsible for bringing him here. There was expectance of an explanation in his gaze, but none came, Sam simply set the blankets just so and offered a hand down.

A snort and hop got the Nidoran to seeing himself down. Or rather got his meeting with the floor underway. Trying not to whimper –the grunt wasn’t much more dignified, still it wasn’t a whimper- he managed to draw splayed feet under him, pulling them towards getting him up was harder but still he tried.

Second time he was up, and a glance up told him that the Professor had been busy with saving the child’s clock and few nick knacks from Leo’s abrupt departure and absent kick on descent. Having missed the whole of Leo’s stupidity he looked down and smiled for seeing that the poison type was getting about without help wordlessly set all in place, pausing once to take a swipe at some dust that the round clock had been obscuring.

With a grimace of disgust Leo scraped his claws on the carpeted floor, sure he wasn’t hosting any dust Lopunnys he tipped his head up but long legs were quick at work and the man he meant to wordlessly interrogate was opening the door and holding it for him to see himself out.

More than capable of taking a hint Leo padded after the man, leaving the boy to an untroubled sleep, and perhaps it was something like compassion that had him wondering how in the world the child could take broken dreams so well.

A quick bend and offered hands and he was he had been, cupped in calloused wrinkled hands, nosing back the man’s sleeve he read the time, had done so twice on the trip, first to assure himself he could still read numbers, then once more to gape disbelievingly at the date because it couldn’t have been five days since he’s last looked at a calendar-

His calendar, lodged into digital glory in a computer that the police would kill to have, kill him, save they didn’t have to anymore and… Hysteria surly lay that way, perhaps madness, so he fell onto route. Spite came to him, a bite after and he was put down with a grumble to tell him to mind his manner. People weren’t food, he was told, then playing contradiction in full the Professor acted like a proper food dispenser and put down a snack. The treat was a dusty brown pellet that smelled like lint more than edible, still he nosed it, or made a show of doing so, once Sam was off to leaving him be he kicked it under the nearest piece of furniture and followed.

Budding bruises made it more of a stagger, but both residents and guests were an oblivious lot, Sam never looked back and the boy’s mother who was waiting in the kitchen never looked down.

Figuring linoleum would make his claws click he sat on carpet’s edge and listened to pleasantries, it was almost as boring as Sam’s prattle before, save it was broken up by an interlude of sipping tea and… a sniff confirmed one of the two was indulging coffee. The scent almost had him padding forward to demand some but sense stilled him though he couldn’t quite help a few wistful loud sniffs.

“He’s doing well, better than I had hoped, I was wondering if…”

Leo was wondering if the heat on his back was going to ease anytime soon. Between wanting and not getting, irritation, and being where he was both not wanted or where he didn’t want to be it hadn’t been a bad day but wasn’t shaping up to be a good one.

“Ash isn’t quite the reading type Sam.”

Nor was Leo the type to endure discomfort, which the heat was resolving into. Twisting his limbs about he managed to scrape the back of his neck in a rather doggish motion, which helped not one bit and lead him bearing a small stinging scratch as well.

“Still they might offer some distraction-”

Clamping on the cut with his mouth –his paws wouldn’t work right, not like hands- it wasn’t easy, snout and all, but he was able to suck the small spine out. He thought of spitting it onto the carpet, of perhaps combing the small hairs so that it was hidden point up. It wasn’t like they’d notice what he was doing, and it would be such a shame if it were found by some errant foot.

“Sam…. Tell me there’s one thing you can do… something… anything…”

“With the funding cut… I had to break down the reserve, just so that the trainers who I’ve patroned before don’t…” A sigh, courage gathered perhaps, focus certainly. “There’s an investigation. They think he used illegal funds to help support the reserve and his other charitable projects. You know the governments won’t support us… so I had to take what he offered. So for now, until the police are done... I’ve no money, everything’s frozen.” A chuckle, both wistful and biter. “I could get him a Meowth, there’s a few strays and I still have ‘gon… but really that would be too much like… well when Leo does come out of whatever he’s been hiding at he’d be steamed enough to permanently dock my pay.”

“Sam…” the woman’s tone was both soft and gentle with just a breathe of warning. “He’s…”

“Only been out of communication for a week, he’s gone longer than that before.” There was no forced brightness as Leo expected, only a firm note of steel. “Delia… I told you, it’s a closed subject.”

“Alright…” A sigh, exasperation incarnate, he’s heard that sound a lifetime ago, and to that familiarity he spat out quill and seethed in disgust. “I won’t talk about him.”

Deciding any patch was as good as another he teased weave one way then another, eye locked on the changing hues and the meager weave so he might better obscure the poison tipped pin.

“What will you tell Ash, since you don’t have a starter to give him?”

“Actually… I sort of have a starter; it’s the funds that are a problem. I can’t completely cover the costs of a fifth trainer, so I was thinking… The science community, we’re very closed off from one another, we don’t even have active lines of communication save say the occasional phone call. Each town’s resources are an independent data base… I think I’d like to see that fixed.”

Latching on the part she understood Ash’s mother wondered. “A sort of starter?”

Feeling eyes on him Leo looked up from thoughts of poisonings to find Sam looking down. His ears slicked back even as the woman near moaned a disbelieving denial which clued him onto what madness had seized the aging man.

Senile was the nicest part Leo’s internal refusal, which was soon to become quite vocal.

Perhaps sensing the mood of both peoples present he rushed forward with the idea.

“Just to Viridian and back,” Oak chirped. “A short walk for a boy his age, a few days mucking about in the wild at a leisurely pace to deliver a proposal, then he can stroll back with the answer. It might nip his desire to be a trainer quite nicely since so many children really don’t want to put up with… well the traveling part. And I’d appreciate the help. My colleague is an eccentric sort, despite Viridian being a hotbed of modern life the man doesn’t even own a phone and he’s notorious for burning his mail. Says postage makes a wonderful starter, along with newspapers, and the like…” Shuffling his cup from hand to hand he tried a winning smile to Delia, and visible flinched at the sheer stubborn refusal on her features.

Having been gifted with seeing that face once before Leo might have felt sympathy, if the whole idea weren’t insanity incarnate. As it was his features bore a similar cast and there were traces of poison seeping from his back spikes, his ire literally being acidic enough to mark the world… And discolor and dissolve part of the carpet.

That caused a scramble, Oak to sooth him, then Delia to pour a base (one Oak had produced from a coat pocket) where he’d been. When the soothing wasn’t working –for Leo had a lot to say, about Sam’s declining mental capacity and present form’s limited vocabulary be hanged he’d say it- and Leo’s squeals had scaled up to screeches that’d do a Golbat proud they were excused with a hurried promise that Oak would be by with more chemical solution first and perhaps milk would slow the spread…

And it was little wonder Delia slammed the door at their back and locked it.

“Well…” With cheer was so forced Leo had to wince. “That went well.”

You’re insane. The purple pokemon hissed at the Professor. Never mind it came out as “Ran Nido.” There were times words weren’t necessary to make a point. And sometimes even the wrong words worked fine, because Leo’s wince was passed along and the Professor looked chagrined.

“Well I could try to catch a Meowth….” The man muttered, and both were walking slowly to the reserve. “How do you feel about a little scuffle before dinner? I’m sure I have a pokeball in here somewhere…”

Deciding he had enough of stupidity from the supposed wise Leo picked up pace, leaving the Professor far behind.

 

[K_S]

It was a more humble beginning than expected. Instead of screaming fans and waved signs it was only the three of them and him. His journey started at the stairs, a slow step by step down, no running for him, and a near stumble at the last could have derailed the rest haed he not braced himself on the rail at the last second. Still scare done he was smiling and looking up.

Them, they were looking on.

He was winded, sweaty from exertion that would have been a thing he just had to do and it’d be done without a thought, still the doctors had said something about lingering weakness and nausea. Luckily the last wasn’t bugging him today, which was why when the professor had asked him to come down he’d said coming and made the trip that nearly ended with a trip. Acknowledging the concern of one, a smile mom’s way did nothing to discourage, simply made her dim it, he nodded to the Professor recalling things like hellos now that his heart wasn’t racing.

If it came out choppy the man didn’t show.

“Up for a walk Ash?”

The thing poking out of the professor’s coat pocket, red and boxish yet gleaming told him this wasn’t going to be just a walk about Mom’s garden, not with tech that new being brought around. Between the glee of playing with something new and the promise of sunlight that didn’t feel like fire against his eyes the couch and its fluffed pillow nest that’d been set for him didn’t even register.

“That sounds great.” Having nothing to grab except the spare keys hung up by the door the boy was out in a blink, tossing a we’ll be back soon on his way out to tend to any other worries mom might have had.

Oak, more adult of the two lingered long enough to offer more mature platitudes and assurances before coming after, the unlikely third for the day padding soundlessly after the professor eyeing the man’s flapping white coat with some distrust that spoke of an accidental smack on the head. The tear about knee level spoke of some retaliation after said smack but the professor bore no cuts then that.

If nothing else caution had been learned by one.

Ash leaning against the mail box trying to will the sick stinging nausea of what was better known as “being poisoned and recovering” back, managed something like a smile and straightened as best as he could. It was being unstraightened that let him see the cut, the Nidoran’s suspicious glower having been what drew his attention a bit left rather than straight down and missing the obvious.

“So how’s the grouchy patient been, besides grouchy I mean.” Considering everything Ash figured he had the right to rag the little guy on his predicament, a little, because the poisen type was so little anything else was just mean.

The glare canted up his way told him that no, the teasing wasn’t appreciated, something the Professor backed with the gentle reminder of “His name’s not grouch, Ash.”

“What’d you name him again, anyway?”

“Leo, well Leonardo in full but it’s too long and won’t fit in the Dex’s memory.”

“Dex?”

Thus came the offering, the red box that was part scanner part note taker, its memory though short in names was long in other things. A few steps with its touch screen touching , a corrective tap of the small keyboard underneath and a wave over the stiffly sitting Nidoran’s head and he was able to note everything. Leo’s height, weight (which drew an irritated huffed “ran”) habitat, and the like. There’d even been a pre tapped note of “Oaks reserve” under habitat, something that’d made Ash smile. Figure the professor was so thorough as to list reserves, and when he expanded the lot he found a few others though the Safari one caught his eye.

Seeing he was exploring the tech a bit Oak left him to his play for a little, a hand on his shoulder and nudge got him aware to the fact he was still leaning against Mom’s mail box with a start.

“So what do you think?”

“Definitely neat.” Ash beamed, never minding all the empty spots what was there was impressive enough.

“It’s hardly done yet, actually it needs a lot of work before I’d say it’s neat.” Oak quirked a small smile as Ash found the “cry” button and treated them to a replay of Leo’s rather wry “Nido” a few times. “Thanks anyway though.”

Clicking a button on the side and closing it much like on would a cell phone Ash pocketed the Dex, mainly because Oak didn’t seem to want it back.

Though pulling away from the mail box was harder than it should have been it wasn’t too hard not to make it worth it. “So where are we going?”

It wasn’t quit the bouncy enthusiasm that was from before the poisoning but it was enough that Oak didn’t look worried. So good enough.

“Well if you noticed Pallet’s a bit empty data wise. I figured after we bother the Nelsons across the street for their growlithe for scanning…” A quick glance back and a lowering of his voice told Ash that Oak hadn’t told Mom the last bit “and well there is a small clutch of caterpie and metapod by the beginning of route one, up a tree by the road’s edge.”

About two miles, at most, starting from the Nelson’s house anyway. Distance was nothing before the enthusiasm of doing something new.

It wasn’t a journey, but remembering all those blank spaces in the Professor’s Dex… well filling them up looked like a good reason to start one.

“Let’s go already.” The boy cheered, “Do you think we could see Viridian forest from Route One?”

“Maybe, but only if we look real carefully.” The professor then laughed for some odd adult reason, ruffling his hair, and then they were off, with a wave behind and eyes forward.

Not quite up to bouncing Ash still managed to take the lead.

A groan of “Nii” and the scrape of claws over dirt road told Oak that Leo was at least tagging along. Glad he wasn’t going to have to resort to stuffing that one in his pokeball for safety’s sake he whispered a firm “be nice” that was met with slicked back ears and a wordless hiss. Focusing everything he had on getting there and not feeling sick Ash never noticed. Peppering the air, and occasionally Oak with questions about growlithe that the man gamely answered as they went, eyes firmly fixed on Ash’s gait, one stumble or shake and they’d go back and do the longer trip tomorrow.

A low squeaky growl made Oak amend the last, one poison needle or nip and Leo’d be sent home with some excuse or other.

And if worse came to worse he’d give up his treasured porygon, Data, to let Ash do this trip. Though Oak would prefer to send Leo, it wasn’t as iron clad as he told Delia. He’d to have to put the poor creature down as dangerous if he couldn’t be sent off a trainer, and while that would be a tragedy of its own Oak wasn’t willing to put Ash’s life in jeopardy.

This first time had been bad enough for all of them.

 

[K_S]

It was ramen, preheated vegetable stirred in night. The norm of most nights unless he was expecting company, but few knew that. To spice up the repast it was pick a sauce off of the roy g biv scale and disregard the sodium night. Something that while Oak did not disclose to his guest he rather suspected the shrewd nidoran knew about. Because the glare canted up his way was pure frustration, and the bottles had been turned nutritional facts forward after the creature took a quick stroll among the condiment covered counter.

Hence his new spot on the floor.

Though he suspected, Oak did not accuse the creature of being able to read. In his heart of hearts he wasn’t sure what the ethical thing to do if his question was met with any type of positive affirmation.

So he didn’t press, talking more to himself then the persnickety creature, picking irrelevant topics, and trying not to think about those might of beens.

Or what could be.

Either was a loaded topic, and as he’d once told Leo (the man, not the Pokémon who with the aid of the chair and a running hop was back on the counter) he was a Pokémon Professor, not a specialist in ethics and morals.

Leo, the ‘mon, now up, was tip toeing about the stove’s top, gifting the red hot coils with a generous berth and glare, nose in the fridge (and head in the sand, or so Leo the man would drawl) he was oblivious to the creature’s progress.

Nowhere in his chosen profession was he meant to wield guns, or really anything with a trigger. Literally or figuratively.

So he didn’t, simply poured a glass of purified water and righted what’d been turned about, idly tutting at the oblivious creature’s mischief as he corrected and put away what he wasn’t going to use. Choice made (his favorite, and the worse of the lot) it’d be added when the steaming had stopped least the lot evaporate away.

Busy with plates and forks, and a quick check and correction so the stove was off, he indulged a bit of a hunt because he’d be feeding two for vice night and that was rarer than a pidgy’s teeth. To say he was distracted was an understatement, and the silent nidoran, well it was quiet when deciding not to vocalize. Glaring at repast and seasoning the condiment counter was reached and the choice turned the monsters way.

If snouts could twist into glowers of pure scorn this creature’s did.

Sure that he wasn’t being spied on via some reflective surface the nidoran acted, a nudge and mix mash of splat and shatter resulted. As well as a black salty pool glinting with glass off white tiles.

The creature didn’t even try for ashamed, never mind the professor’s outrage. Creature simply met man’s anger with fangs bared in a snarl so small and bitter it might have been better called a sneer. Rearing up just so, hooking his head horn under the edge of the cabinet door it jerked it’s head to the side, and though slammed hard enough to set the glassware on the other side shivering nothing fell. Still reared the pokemon twisted and one quick bite brought down the low sodium soy sauce.

The healthy alternative to indulgence night set in place (nearly over the edge, a quick lunge on Oak’s part kept it from rolling off) the creature watched as he professor set it to a safer spot that was out of easy reach but not away.

Black eyes met grey, the challenge in the creature’s little eyes went beyond volumes, or bitter, or any easy descriptor. This was not some child’s motion of look at me, some adolescent rebellion wrapped up in a poison type shell. Challenge acknowledged the man first looked away, then beyond.

“You’re almost as prickly as your namesake, how you can be like that without knowing the man….” Voice rough, throat tight, Oak considered the mess, it was safer than the creature that was so… familiar. “I’d suggest staying there until I can mop up the mess and pick up the glass.”

Because with Leo you didn’t order. Even as a boy he’d never listened and as a man… orders weren’t even an option. Even when it was for his own good, the man was obstinate, more stubborn then the stereotypical ground type.

Turning, going towards gone, a snarl got him to look back and somewhat towards the present and away from those could have beens that he mucked up so badly.

“I need the mop to clean up the mess Leo,” horned head jerked to the pot that was boiling never mind it being off. Well that’s how it was with the older models, he’d normally find the inaccuracy a challenge to work around, now it seemed too much effort. The lot within was going towards burnt if the smell was anything to go by. With something like a laugh the professor shook his head. “Not the first meal I’ve burnt.”

And with that he stepped out.

XXX

Both woke with the taste of char on their tongue, Oak blessed with the wonders of modern technology and a working sink applied toothbrush and toothpaste to his problem. Groggy eyed and irritated the Nidoran at his feet glared up at him in envy. Even after lapping up a bowlful of water and attempting to gargle with the second and leaving a mess because his face wasn’t built for that activity, luckily Oak had left the mop nearby and the toweling down had been both gentle and careful, still he’d had to endure the taste.

Was enduring it now.

The green bone shaped mint chew meant for growlithe breath had not been touched, or rather had been touched before him and thus wasn’t going to considered. Ever. No matter the early morning miasma that filed his mouth, no matter how vilely it coagulated with the disaster that was last night’s dinner.

Thus some jealousy and dissatisfaction with the world this morning were expected.

The prickle and tingle of venom seeping down his back that was resultant of his frustration was not, nor was Samuel’s solution.

If snow met with oil and was ground down with fine sugar, well it might have been the substance that was sprinkled on him, save it was green and smelled worse than his mouth tasted.

He’d of thought it impossible, some wonders were simply cruelties simply best left undiscovered. As for the taste when some of it flew into his mouth at his whined protests, all description failed.

As did reason. The responding scream as the taste registered and overrode his brain with the knowledge that he was being attacked might have been chilling if the professor weren’t familiar with other screams. The howls of those creatures so dangerous there were legends about their rampages, gyrados and arcanine and the like, being force fed bitter medicines was about on par to that nidoran’s scream. Thus experience, and something like expectancy, put the resulting thrash a bit below dangerous, that and a few steps back.

Spitting and sputtering the purple creature hopped about, nearly mad in fury and uncoordinated enough not to be too dangerous, except when his claws raked the walls.

But then there were many claw marks, this wasn’t the first rambunctious creature he’d housed after all.

“Now, let’s see… I believe, yes, here it is.” He made a show of turning the bottle, reading something, then smiled down at the creature who was glaring at him. A legitimate Glare that bordered on the Mean Look territory that would set a Pokémon’s instincts into hyper drive and lock it into battle and perhaps froze it in terror. Still Oak’s calm had calmed it, even if the spines on its' back were prickled and its' ears were slicked back. “Step two, apply water and scrub vigorously…”

The little creature crept back, one step, then another, finally turning tail to scramble up the stairs, leaving a sprinkling of lime green powder behind it.

Chuckling Oak pocketed the bottle and went to fetch the vacuum.

Step two had read “Air dry” and further down were the words “vacuum safe” which was more than enough cause for him to whip out the little yellow atrocity his ex-wife had left behind years ago and hadn’t broke on him yet.

Sure that the creature would realize it was being had the second the thing turned on… Well Samuel was sure he could deal with the resulting tantrum, another dose of medicine would be cause enough to stop a fit in its tracks. Tus he was unconcerned as he followed the trail, up the stairs (the wonders of the hose function), down one hall, second bedroom, west side to have a hissing poison type squirm about him and cleaning apparatus and by the sounds of it tumble down the stairs.

He’d of looked, should have checked, but instead stood flabbergasted, device whirling and slightly charring the carpet at his feet.

His bedroom, well his bed, was a green sanded torn up masterpiece of anti-constructionist. And he didn’t mean that in the artistic sense, rather the sense that it had been as broken down to its spare bits as was possible for one small creature in a few moments armed with claw and tooth and a lot of enthusiasm and spines. Covers and mattress were shredded, green was everywhere and nothing was salvageable save for one pillow that had been knocked down likely when the creature had scrambled up to began its vandalism spree.

The smell of char snapped him out of his daze, that and the heat by his toes, a quick look down, and a scramble had him tipping the thing over, fumbling it off as it fell, then attacking the embers with his boots. Luckily matters weren’t too far gone that that hadn’t been sufficient.

Fire out, destruction before him, Samuel considered again the sounds of falling, that distinctive whine-thud that had marked his guest’s clumsiness and gravity catching each other at the perfect time.

Decision made he did go downstairs, walked past the smug nidoran to get what he needed and walked up the stairs to the disaster site that’d once been his bed. He’d gathered what he could, snapping on a pair of gloves because there was likely trace poisons among the mess and a face mask because at his age he did not want to take any kind of risk, and got to work. Disaster bagged, sheets and pillow, the latter knotted about the bead post, how the beast managed that Oak’d never know, he considered himself done. The mattress would have to wait until later, as it was his guests-

A knock on the door, a holler though muffled by distance were close enough to be recognizable-

-well his guests were early, it all would have to wait then.

Knotting the lot, tossing mask and gloves after mess, he shoved vacuum into corner and was thankful that it was cordless and thus less time would be wasted tending it.

A chick and closing and the disaster was locked off, not likely that they’d find anything, still as cover ups went it was dodgy at best but would do for now.

Satisfied he passed the gloating creature again on the route down, and the look tipped his way went from smug to worried at Sam’s smile.

Though teeth were bared there was no warmth in his eyes. Rather like a particular someone’s public smiles really. Then the man was gone, leaving the little nidoran with thoughts and perhaps a niggle of concern. There would be consequences of course, by sounds beyond him stampede entered had occurred but a few moments and the thundering steps approached so that the nidoran could see it was only the Woman’s spawn and nothing as worrisome as a renegade tauros.

When his huff of response to the boy’s “Hi Gr- er Leo” didn’t persuade the boy to leave, well he contemplated a bite, and might of done so had the quick pat that’d gone with the boy’s greeting not been so swift. The child’s next words of “Eeew what is that gunk?” And the natural response all children deprived of towels when encountering messes left a viridian stripe down the child’s blue shirt, it was enough to coax the poison type to flash a bit of fangs; he imagined it’d be a nightmare to clean out. Or at least hoped it was. “Wait right here, I’ll be back.”

Thunder receded, a calmer was brought up perhaps by the child’s new stripes, perhaps by the child’s inanity, considering distance and pitch he guessed the lot of them were in the kitchen.

Considerate of his sore stomach and paws Leo flopped on his side, not really caring what his spines did to the carpet. He must of dozed a bit, and deeply at that because he was woke by wet and pressure so slight and the scent of chemicals that he thought… Well there was no tube and he let one eye flare open to confirm that there wasn’t one approaching anywhere near his snout. The wet wipe towel grazed his jaw, he lifted his head up a bit, tipping just so that the child might see and he did since the wipes path went behind a gunk encrusted ear and began to clean off what it could.

“What’d you do, wrangle with some grass type, get sleep powdered or something and the professor forget to wipe you off?”

His answering “Nido” must have conveyed something amusing for the child laughed.

“Yeah, the Professors a good guy, but he is forgetful.” Dirty wipe stuffed into a pocket, and to that wonderful surprise the next time she did laundry made him bear fang, and of course the brat misunderstood. “Bet you won, huh? “

Then another run of chemical saturated square over his skull, from crown to other ear and a bit behind. Finding it clean the back of his neck was scrubbed.

Still grinning, because he’d won, just not the way the boy thought, Leo tipped his head first up to get the child’s attention, then with his horn pointed out one shoulder that itched yet he dared not scratch least he dig the powder into a cut or something else in a fit of clumsiness. And though Delia had failed the boy in so many ways Sam had not. The child was both quick and gentle in the ministration to that span of flesh, and though the boy pushed things, as did his mentor too much too often, the small scratching of said shoulder once it was clean was not completely unwelcome.

Still he nipped at the fingers, missing with both horn and fang and the boy laughed and got back to work without a complaint.

Still he wasn’t quiet while he worked. Rattling of spine names and poison glands under said spines as he ghosted over them, careful, so careful not to put any more pressure on them than.

Sam's influence there, likely information granted with books skimmed over when boredom was high and the sun related sensitivity was down.

He got some of them right, mainly the spikes, the glands were hit and miss and likely guesses across the board, still Leo didn’t comment or correct.

It wasn’t like he could really.

“I didn’t miss anything did I?”

That warranted a quick examination that might look like he was chasing his tail very slowly if it weren’t for the fact he was craning his head every which way just to make sure…. A quick shuffle to inspect the underside of his paws and belly concluded the lot and both came up clean. So he grunted, satisfied with the job, and sat on his haunches because it was the only repose he’d take around the boy. The laying down had been a fluke and not one he’d ever repeat. When the child didn’t leave after a bit Leo was stymied as to why he hadn’t.

The job was done, they were done, and he wasn’t allowing any petting (and the child knew this, there were no doubts about that) so why would he linger?

The boy waited, changing his tone of waiting as it went on. First kneeling, then flopping into a position both bad and akin to sitting so it might have been relaxing to those wishing to achieve Scoliosis later on in their lives.

There was furniture, chairs, the floor wasn’t a good place to be, still the child lingered.

Waiting.

“Ran?”

Inflection went far enough to turn sound into question; the boy was a bit slow to notice, busy with the last bit of semi clean wipe and the underside of his fingernails.

“Huh, oh um… Yeah, well you haven’t uhh… Well I didn’t want to rush you, you know?”

No, he did not know. And his expression might have said so because something dawned in the boy’s eyes, dawned then darkened as some sort of unpleasant speculation was met and a realization come to from the pure void of facts.

“You’ve never.. but how… Well… I guess you uh never, right?”

What. The sound might have been the utterance of a name but the intent was crystal clear. Part demand, part frustration, part unveiling of hits temper.

The boy winced, pity tempered with fear and those eyes flicked to his horn then to his face.

Finally, once the sweet acidic stench of fear died a bit. “To apologize, no one told you. Huh?” His glower in response must have inspired a ghost of some grammar teacher past. “Um… I mean… uh taught you, huh?”

With a huff the poison type turned about, shuffling to his paws, turned towards stairs with plans of up and perhaps surveying the destruction he’d wrought. It’d be soothing, therapeutic even.

“When someone, anyone, does something nice for you, you say thank you,” though not fast Leo was approaching the stairs, his intent was obvious, still the brat rambled on, not seeming to care. “and if you do something mean to someone, you say sorry and try to make it right.”

Ears slight back Leo pulled himself up the first stair, his body was sluggish and awkward when adrenaline wasn’t running through it; otherwise it was simply poorly coordinated but reasonably paced.

“Look, um I know that it’s hard, you’ve never learned right, but if you want… well I could show you I guess?”

On the second stair Leo froze, shocked by that trite, stupid statement. It was the staple of bad literature, trashy romance, and juvenile mindset the world wide, at least amongst the altruistic crowd. He turned, and glared and let that be enough. The boy didn’t offer any other idiocies, simply slinked his way into the kitchen without a word. Enthusiasm clearly punctured.

Good, better he have that idea dissuaded now before it sunk in and strangled out any potential he might have. How the brat thought he’d get anywhere thinking like that was a mystery.

Unable to decide who to blame over this rather glaring character flaw (both Sam and Delia had the trait though he’d tried to train it out of the Professor for years and had obviously failed) Leo hopped the last stair, a quick walk brought him to the door he sought and a nudge showed it to be locked.

Amused (foresight at last, clearly the man was learning) Leo curled up by the door. The memories of his anger spent and the destruction in its wake were warming in their own way, and though the floor was no place for a child it served him well enough.

Satisfied and secure for he was positioned he would see and hear all coming long before they arrived, he decided a nap was in order and this place was fine.

So he slept.

 

[K_S]

About lunch were papers ,about papers were cutlery mixed and chopsticks, and though spilling was a risk it wasn’t a worry. Signatures were taken, permissions granted, a license for training and research filled and though it broke the rules it was promptly faxed never mind the food on the plate and how many rules that broke at home.

They were at Oak’s home, so some differences were expected, perhaps to be made permanent if Mom’s fond smile as the man ran out meant anything. Kicking his feet under the table he looked at trainer and research licenses and smiled, then something bitter form the mix brushed his tongue just right and he swallowed his last bite of the salad with a grimace.

Deciding enough was enough he pushed the lot back and picked the lesser of two evils, the peeled off bread crusts. They were much better than the salad if a bit green themselves around the edges. Mom gave him a look, part proud; part amused, then asked him to stop kicking the table which he did with a small smile.

It wasn’t the party he’d expected, with cheering fans, but then Gary’d rented all those out. Still, there were two licenses here, not one, so that made it more special in a quiet sort of way. Humming cheerfully Oak returned, papers faxed and responses retrieved, and though fresh from the printer hot Ash took up the card that needed to be laminated before he left town but it was proof enough never mind it was just paper. Admiring done he set the papers aside and pushed the salad even further away for saftey’s sake.

“So,” The Professor took his seat, besides mom, besides him, elbow almost finding the misplaced bowl. “Have you thought about which ‘mon you want?”

Those were the papers around him, with pictures of weedle, and caterpie, and a small pidgey someone’d left with the Professor because it was too small with information about who learned what and when if trained just so.

“Can’t I pick them all?”

Mom laughed then, as did Oak though the man shook his head.

“I wish we could, but there’s a whole team here really.” To Ash’s confusion the man elaborated. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other trainers.”

“Alright.” With a sigh Ash put back the bug type pictures, never noticing his mother’s sigh of relief. “Why’s your Data here professor?”

Lifting up the picture of the porygon, Oak’s smile became a bit strained. Still he answered “He’d be yours Ash, if you picked him.”

Thinking of the sullen nidoran on the stairs, his picture not among the rest Ash considered, then decision made he stood.

“I’ll be back.”

He didn’t specified when or where but they didn’t ask. Thundering up the stairs Ash came upon the awake but curled poison type. Black eyes glared up at him, their owner letting out a huff as the boy sat beside him. Though divested of words a glower and nose wrinkle with a bit of a whine at the edges said enough.

“I’m going... uh leaving Pallet day after tomorrow, to start my journey.”

It was easier to not have to act all bouncy, because though there was excitement the whole world was before him and there was something scary to it too.

A grunt was the poison type’s reply because he’d known of the loop holes both adults had employed to make this work, and thus wasn’t impressed. Shuffling to sitting so there was a little less craning to his glare the nidoran rose as the boy plopped down. Pulling legs close, one arm wrapped about the lot the child set his chin upon his knees and fished ‘dex out of his back pocket. A click and ting as it powered on and there were pictures birds and bugs, common ‘mon one and all. Gary’d of laughed and laughed hard. And for one moment Ash wished for nothing more than not being late. Or maybe that he hadn’t hopped so hard on Gary’s foot… Maybe.

“Ran.” A paw poked Ash’s side, careful not to scratch, it waggled at ‘dex so Ash brought it lower and flipped though the pictures again. Somehow he’d gotten to the end without realizing it, a few button taps got him to the beginning.

“These’re the one’s Oak’s got left.” Voice low, so he wouldn’t be found yet he showed off the first. “Cater’s are pretty near, they can climb up nearly anything but…” a flick and a weedle was shown. “Bug fencer, that’s really cool, right? And look, it’s got a video; this guy can jump really far.” The video was played, once regular then the other in slow motion just because. “ A few more flicks, the pidgey was considered then dismissed by both when in it’s intro video a passing breeze set it spinning tail over tail feathers. “I’ll catch a bigger one.”

That decided the next click brought up Data. Rearing in surprise black eyes scanned over TM and HM capabilities, the stats were detailed on this one and in the midal of reading them the button was pressed again and the ‘dex was pulled out little grabby paws. “No, he’s Oak’s.”

Stilling with a thump and grumble (and a tear, spines scraping against carpet in irritation but not acid thank goodness) Leo growled softly ignoring another click and mused. “I’d pick the Ratatta but I’d have to wait two weeks for Oak to finish with her check up and stuff, so since it’s tomorrow..” A few flicks later and a groan that got the sulking creature’s attention and snicker. The last picture was the inside shot of someone’s pocket. Modern tech at its best.

“Oh shush, like you haven’t done that…” The soft chitter continued, small fanges clicking in mirth. “Well guess not, you don’t have thumbs, or a phone. But I bet you would.”

With a huff his own Ash flopped on his back. “You done yet?”

Never mind the chittering was well over and the quiet that was their norm returned, the nidoran said its name because really he couldn’t say anything else and there was little tone to tell if it meant anything beyond yes.

Daring Ash reached out, poked the prickly grouch that hissed at him, he met hostility with a grin flipping the device over so weedle and caterpie were both shown.

“Come on Mister Poison type, tell me which is the better one then.”

And here they were at the root of it, the trip up the stairs and the chatter weren’t entirely mindless were they? Decisions, decisions. Considering where his last had landed him Leo stilled. He shouldn’t have any say in anyone else’s, technically speaking he couldn’t speak, or indicate anything save basest need and even that could be muddied by the unobservant. Shaking himself to better dodge the chill up his spine, he stood, claws and quills raising quite a clatter.

“Wait a second!” Eyes bright, something inspired the boy scrambled up to sitting and though he wasn’t Leo stood, watched as the boy considered screen (string shots attacks were in play against some unseen subject, though the nidoran suspected it was some off screen aide) then him and smiled. “Uh… could you sit?”

He glared, never mind up and neck pain he glared and showed a bit of fang as well.

“Or stand.”

Considering the latter was in a better tone than the last Leo stood still but only for a moment, at least until the brats hat was nearly put on top of him. That warranted a hop and hiss.

Alright so imagine that’s a weedle, or a caterpie or something and… well you’re you and this is a rock.”

The “rock” was ‘dex, powered down and standing a few feet away from both hat and ‘mon.

“So a normal trainer would be like string shot and say trip up the attacking ‘mon to slow it down, right? but what about if it were to ‘string the rock. I mean if there was anything on top the rock it could pull it down, like pebbles and stuff, or well if it strung the rock and let’s say you tackled and it went this way…” The hat took a sharp left. “Well that trip would hurt a bit more than a usual one don’t you think?”

Leo said nothing, simply considered something beyond the boy and down, jagged ears twitching.

“But a weedle could you know jump and poke and sting shot, so it’s better, right?”

Footsteps padded up the stairs Oak’s voice raised in question.. “Ash, where- “ A chuckle “What are you doing up here?” Spotting the nidoran the man smiled. “ Ah, there’s a pair of trouble makers hm? Playing nice?”

“I’m ten professor! I don’t play, geeze.” Snapping his hat from the floor Ash popped it on his head. “We were… just conduc- doing a survey. That’s all.”

A snort from knee level told the truth of that.

“Alright then. You’re mom’s wanting to go, don’t forget your licenses on the way out, if you hurry you can get to the paper goods store and get those laminated before the store closes.And don’t forget to make up your mind, you’ll be back bright and early for your started, right?”

“You bet! Bye Professor, thanks Leo!”

The boy left as he came, noisily.

Too old to be sitting on the floor Oak leaned on the rail, watching and waiting; when both guests were gone he considered the nidoran who was pawing off a strip of carpet from his back.

“I’m half a mind to leave you outside so you destroy the sod and not my house you know.”

A grumbled growl, paws scraped off threads but with the absence of acid was enough of a blessing the man didn’t grouse more about the damages.

“So, a weedle you think, he’s leaning that way?”

And never mind the supposed stupidity in talking to a ‘mon and hoping it would understand the hopped shrug and padding towards the stairs meant something. Indifference likely.

“You know, there are Beedrill out there, and though pretty Butterfree aren’t any safer, I’d prefer you go and not one of the other starters I’m having to make do with.”

Black eyes canted up, considered him, progress for out stilled.

“Think about it, please.”

Silence, stillness, then a huff and nod that while not promise seemed enough. And familiar. Both were equally troubling but Oak decided he had cleaning to do and got to it rather than think over impossibilities.

 

[K_S]

Dodging


Chapter 11, poison point


On the day, before the last... The skies were clear, the weather caught in that pleasant span between too warm and just warm enough, with an edge of muggy from an early morning drizzle to give it a bit of a bite discomfort. It was utterly prosiac, but than Pallet was, as utterly verdant as Viridian but without the taming hand of man behind it to make it transcend from merely prosaic, to practical yet appealing.

Suffice to say, the grass was untammed and weed clogged, the roads were basic and scanty, and it made walking on four legs hellish. He missed the smooth walkways and neatly trimmed grounds of Veridian's park more with every day. Still, this was his life at the moment, and he wasn't equipped to do much about it, for now.


He’d watched, detached yet present. A near silent presence at the boy’s feet, draping over rocks and low running fence outcrops to get a better view via borrowed height as he fought, and failed, to hold to a biped’s stance while watching. He’d held his quiet, disquieted by his own voice, and only watched while the boy went through those first few fumbling efforts. Of learning how to turn the tech on, aim, and gather the data. Trial and error, with requisite drops and miss presses and… And he’d been “powedered” twice last outing as part of the boy’s training. First by Sam in an effort to familiarize the boy with “treating” his excess of venom, and second because he’d seeped acidic venom when some young brat that wasn’t the one he was assigned to follow had enraged him.


The blonde child had been kicking rocks on odd angles of his shoes while he walked. Picking a path across the way from Ash who’d found the “best pidgy spot in Pallet” set up by way of some octogenarian lady who’d set bird bells upon bird bells in her weed choked mess of a yard. The span she owned was impressive in size compared to her peers, and the birds who coagulated there were of a pygmy pidgy breed. More fluff than substance. And the lot gave a good sampling of small and fast moving ‘mon for the boy to try his hand at. After being hollered at that he wasn’t to enter the tall grass the boy’d perched upon a span of dusty white washed fence and begun settling up to test his tech and…


And across the street another child had gotten a lucky kick in.


The stone had skipped off shoe, across the dirt path, and pelted the wobbly Nidoran in the shoulder. The apology, towards Ash, gifted after laughing, had been done in sing song and utterly insincere.


For that insult and assault Leo was unforgiving. And while before he’d have favored more long running retribution, or perhaps sending out another to do the dirty work… His reason took a back seat to the pain running down his shoulder and forelimb. It was as if he was a step back in his own head, distant even as he was snapping his fangs, quills spreading as familiar venom surged to life in their pouches and set the skin about them to respond. And in a reasonable panic inspired by his own poisoning Delia’s brat had tossed a bit of power on him while telling his younger peer to run. And the blonde child had, with a laugh about how “Gary was right” and the “loser and his loser common ‘mon were pathetic” and the boy’d been too far gone and Leo too unsure of his own paws to make up the distance.


And for the boy he was… bound too… well Ash knew no better. He’d panicked, and in the motions of limiting damages had used a repulsive (if non-violent) control on a situation that would have turned lethal without intervention. Furthermore, the brat was still recovering from his sickness and poisoning, so Leo could allow some clemency on the brat’s judgment.


As for why he hadn’t drawn Leo into a pokeball, that’d been tried first. The red and white ball hung in the child’s off hand, pointing so it was level with Leo’s horn, engorged and humming and never making that leap between active and acting.


It was curious enough that Leo ignored the insult of being, yet again, speckled with the grey-green ashy muck that made his back hiss and quills twitch in revulsion to better consider the failed recall.


So for now, Ash Katchem was given a pass. A click and whirl and the ball shrunk down, and was pocketed. At the child’s feet, moment of curiosity done, the Nidoran hissed and swiped at his eyes. Leo staggered a few steps on his four paws and hopped, because the boy was too near, working towards kneeling besides him no less. Lips pealed back, fangs bared, his jaws and tongue clicked without Leo’s direct input. The motions released a low click-click chitter up at the boy without their originator quite knowing how he was doing so. At the warning the boy stilled, didn’t rear back, just hunched into himself, refusing to break eye contact but trying to counter some of his natural height.


After a few moments of a stare off the brat looked about and scooted a bit to the side so he could stretch a gloved hand. By scent and sight the offering was a cleaning product, and a hoped step showed it to be on a nearby rock, and that was acceptable. Satisfaction at the compromise, that stilled the clicking than any real coherent thought on Leo’s behalf. So Leo followed the boy’s arm to the offering, took himself a few steps away and rubbed his face against the chemical doused sheet. He was mercifully, coherently, quiet as he scraped with the grain of his snout and whiskers to give himself his first good face washing since Sam’d dosed him as a “test”.


And he went with the grain because doing otherwise had the lot curling and shoving itself up his nose.


That’d happened once, and only once, and ended with being cornered, pined, and tweezers being employed because the spines around his neck had been crawling with poison and the scientist had wisely taken no chance and… And after that experience, never again.


Face cleaned, he reared, scraping paws, and again, mindful of the grain and edge, he got his fore handled without difficulties. Cleaning his hind would require a clamor up, and a, undignified motion akin to one Persian would use after using the litter box that would shred the lot. So he didn’t. Because the brat had been aiming for his shoulders, and the bulk of that could be managed with a sort of reared rolling back and forth. The fabric sheared, and it’s bits and pieces would need to be picked out, but he did what he could. When he was done Leo slid his claws over each other. A quick twiddle that sounded like a snappish click resounded, and the disparity between the familiar motion, clicking his fingers, and this, was enough to make his ears slick back.


Thus he likely looked disheartened as the boy picked shredded bits off of his back. Enough so the child rubbed his head as he wiped him clean with another cloth, subtle it tried yet was not.


“Hey, it’ll be OK, he’s one of Gary’s friends and can be jerk. You aren’t a common anything, you’re too awesome for that.”


And to that bit of praise, more bemused by it as his anger was on the decline… Leo offered a dry grunt, that sounded like a “Nido” to the boy lavishing him in attention. And that nonsensical noise set the boy off to heap more praise. About how “Normal ‘Ran just charge after they get hit, you looked around, so that’s proof you’re super smart,” and really, if basic situational awareness was going to garner such gratuitous acclaim the boy would be in a great deal of trouble depending on so many things. Or perhaps Leo would be if they had to spend any time together as this wore on. The lack of pokeball working painted an unpleasant picture, but the implications weren’t on the child’s mind at that moment.


Speaking of time, Leo’d calmed in part enough to realize just how much he had. Couple that with an enhanced sense of smell and rancor to enhance his “awareness” and he was fairly confident he could recognize the blonde brat even without laying eyes on him again. He would not need speed to find the smell again, just tenacity and time and… and he had nothing else but.


It wasn’t like he was going anywhere, the brat would take the Weedle and they’d be done.


“Did I miss anything?” The boy asked, and to that Leo canted a glare up, but obliged the unspoken request. Turning slowly, craning and dipping his head to best see as he chased himself slow motion while the brat watched on.


“Think we’re good?”


Bobbing a quick nod, Leo, with a grimace, sat in the dust. The boy gathered what trash had been made and pocketed the lot, biohazard slant of the shreds ignored for now.


“He didn’t hurt you too bad, did he? I mean we can go to Oak’s, get a potion…”


Another snort, effort kept it from turning into nominative, but the huff and overt eye roll said volumes. The motions were blunt enough the child realized meaning right off the zubat. It was… to the Nidoran’s immense benefit… that the child was so young. So unschooled with reality that he still indulged the childish “talking to his ‘mon like they were people” tic.


Pulling himself to standing, and daring his fingers by reaching out and indulging one final head rub as he raised… Well because the boy was who he was, and daring was part of it, and because the boy was as he was, at that awkward moment between sitting and standing, retaliation would not be wise. Lead to potential falls and squishing and so Leo hissed at the child, scrunched away, and let the slant of his quills speak his distaste for the untoward cuddle. The brat was not only childish, but simple and addled, and perhaps touch deprived, because who in their sane mind would ever pet a walking, acidic, pin cushion?


“Oh come on,” The brat whined, tipping his league hat up so Leo could see his pout all the better. “At least let me sorta pretend I get the smartest Nido ever as a partner, even for a little bit?”


To such blatant begging Leo met the boy’s eyes, and lolled his head as he rolled his eyes and shook his head, the horn made the denial… odd… but the response, a snort and smile, was comprehending if not agreement. And the brat kept his hands to himself, which was the most important thing of all.


Feeling that familiar itch, where irritation peaked to poison, Leo stood with a soft ‘Ran at the boy to let him know he was moving about, and got to moving.


Grass licked cement; he wandered about the edge of a walkway near consumed by vegetation. The empty yard at his back was… well not filled… but reasonably occupied with brown pidgy popping out of the unkempt weeds and the like. They hadn’t spooked amongst the yelling and threat displays and sugary dawdling the boy indulged, so they were all accounted for if not counted.


And the boy, recalling duties, was fumbling with his tech to get the tally function to work. Taking his place of leaning on white wash and tipping the box thing left and right in small sweeps that wouldn’t startle the ‘mon he was trying to record. His first efforts had been wild and swooping and set the birds to flight, and from that the child had learned.


And in others he hadn’t. His ‘mon being quiet was easily forgotten, and thus Leo was able to wander off. And that was fine, it kept him out of Leo’s hair… horn… whatever, but again… Lack of situational awareness and that was a headache in and of itself. He wished the boy’s weedle partner luck, patience, and that Mew’d find no need to look after either of them.


A curious inverse considering common prayer was for Mew to look after the innocent and children of the world… but his own experiences were such he’d not inflict a Legendary on anyone.


He tried to shove grass stalks and the like aside. Use his horn, and whole it preceded his face enough to push aside a few strands of the thickest bunches to keep the lot from stabbing his eyes and nose it did little for visibility. So he forgoed the neck exercise, and waddled few yards, hopped one or twice to get a bead on a landmark, a bit of piled brick a few posts away, and once sure he was lined up got to walking towards the remnants of some project of other on the edge of an old crones property.


There were many problems here, and the brat wasn’t privy to most of them. Oblivious child that he was. Leo’s behaviors, general hostility and bitterness, had left him labeled a problem ‘mon. And his inability to actually vent about his own problems or resolve anything had caused a spike in his venom output. Thus the dousing with the grimer spawn snowflake “neutralizer” that was clearly air dry by Sam this morning. This afternoon run in when his anger had taken him too far and might had led to a death was… unfortunately humbling. He’d thought this situation was solely physical, to find there were psychological repercussions were problematic for many reasons.


He could not, dare not, overtly act hostile, especially in front of witnesses. Or he’d risk being euthanized.


Still, he was a bitter soul, and Leo’d would remember Sam’s duplicity. He made plans for later that night to drag Sam’s shoes out into the rattata pens and let the mice go wild. But that was for then, and for now… He’d set aside loftier goals, endured being told to “tag along and appear tame” to garner a few points of good will and appear to reform. He’d have to build trust, and in turn work on his physical training… Because this walk, from Sam’s to this yard to the rocks that were his goal, was exhausting.


And being recalled was not an option.


As for reforming while he was trapped in a form that exuded his personal venom as physical was going to be a trial. Holding the irritation born venom in made him nauseous. And it wasn’t wholly thinking on the mechanics of how the poison sacks operated in reverse and set his flesh to puff at the absorption that triggered the sensation. He’d get sick, literally, puking sick. His first day out of Sam’s lab had led to him learning to walk off his anger and scrape against stones when the sensation passed from “itch” to “stabbing” as the latter preceded the wet sucking of reverse osmosis and pressing against stone pushed the venom out and avoided the sickness.


The itch was scaling up, and Leo put some speed into his steps in response.


Behind him testing quick flicks to get some of the information, the boy was playing with repetitive sweeps over the same ‘mon. Which the flock of bouncing birds were not helping by shuffling around every few moments. Still the trick seemed to be working if it was done within a minute window. Perhaps the improvement was made to allow scanning and running, a not unwise addition. By sweeping the ‘dex from side to side a few times a fuller data spreadsheet could be garnered as it took snap shots of all the ‘mon in one go. It’d count clutches of pidgy. The feature, a new creation, had yet to be tested against ‘mon of a large size and part of Ash’s duties would likely entail lurking and getting the readings off of a clutch of… well Beedril perhaps. They clustered in certain trees and were sizable and with care could be read in such a way.


Beyond Viridian, there were herds and tribes of ground type at Mount Moon. For the canny breaking off of the paths at the foot hills preceding Pewter could catch a similar set of ‘mon without all the hiking and cave exploration that was expected. There were a set of rocky fields set off the main path that while looking wild were carefully sculpted and controlled and under his sway. Within were mainly geodude, cast off experiments born with more porous hides to better absorb and shake off water, the lot released and mixed with natural ‘mon to text the genetic durability of the transplanted trait and see what mutations would come with commingling artifice to nature. A few clutches of sandshrew that while not native to the area (transplants of an earthquake that’d rearranged part of Cerulean a few decades back) were left in peace as his labs hadn’t bothered to tweak them yet, those were allowed to roam about, giving the area a smear of verisimilitude. And for the brave, there was one herd of illegally transported rhyhorns that were being cross bred with tyranitar to artificially stimulate more savage natures. An artifice beserker gene tossed into the gene pool as it were. The results had been something he’d been reading over days before this disaster at Orange Island… and there’d been some sort of upheaval that he’d wanted to oversee himself but couldn’t recall the finer details.


But then dying had made a whole lot of matters.. blurry.


And that thought was another spike, worry to anger and… and the bricks were a near miracle when he saw them. Weather bleached, and dusty, and too tall (the world was such) but the sun hit them just right and with a chittered sigh he crossed the last distance with a few quick hops. Relief, he scraped his chin scrolled up from jaw to neck and wet oozed down his neck, a different type of itch that was in no way ominous like the internal throbbing itch that preceded venom. He reared and turned and worried at the spikey span between his shoulders because that spot was the worst, one foot tapping against the dirt road because this forms biology clearly must and… Oh saints and sinners both getting that part itched felt divine. Leo scrunched his eyes and kicked harder, thumping like mad until the realization of what he was doing pierced his euphoria.


Laughter, from the brat, was another metaphorical bucket of ice water tossed over him, and Leo snapped both eyes to glare up at the boy. A rush of warmth warned of another venom seep occurring and added a whole new dimension of “venomous glare” and to that the brat dimmed his humor to a smile that he hid poorly with a raised hand.


“I’m done. If you are we can head back now. I bet the Professor’s worried you got into trouble or something….”


Considering the boy’d been the subject of hovering, fussing and the like it seemed mildly fair for him in his youth to project that worry onto others. His target was sorely misplaced though Leo had no way to properly project that. Having the whole of his vocabulary dissolved into a species name, and that divided into two sounds, one of them being nonsensical and the other associated with flight, was limiting as to what he could say. Still inflection was achievable and he hissed a bitter “Nido” at the brat and followed it with a mocking “ran” and let the boy draw his own conclusions.


Which considering everything, of course, the boy drew the wrong ones.


“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the lab cot today.”


Reaching about, nipping his neck quills he spit a poisoned needle.. not at the brat, but to the side of him, and something squawked in indignation at attacks end.


“Really?” The boy groaned.


Looking back one pidgy of the hoard was bearing a violet quill sticking out of it’s leg. Mercifully the venom hadn’t caught and the avian fluffed up and hopped a bit away. Only mildly ruffled. Still that was not the only damage done, the attack had been seen, and a shrill “Ashton Satoshi Katchem did your rat just stick one of my pidgs?!” made the boy hunch into himself.


“Oh my Arceus… really?” Was hissed down at the nidoran, who, sliding a bit back flopped form his biped sprawl to a more reasonable quadped pose and flicked an ear up at the boy. “She had to see…” Biting his lip, the boy straightened as much as his wince would allow, and turned towards the properties sole porch and the old crone atop it, who was glaring myoptically down at him. “Ummm I’m… He’s really sorry?” A glance down showed Leo was nipping at another spine, working it carefully out, and thus rearmed was… Well it looked like a tongue sticking out if you thought nidorans had purple spiky tongues. “Put that down!” The boy hissed, ignoring the reasonable offer and head tip towards the old woman who was haranguing at them.


She’d call his Mother, and the Professor, bill them both for damaging her property and fighting her precious Pidgs… Leo, at Ash’s feet, more to the second threat than the first, wiggled the spine enticingly as an obvious suggestion.


And to that offer, Ash understood, and swallowed. He felt a bit sick at what he was thinking this wild, newborn, was offering, and shook his head. Absolutely not. After a moment the creature tipped his head and dropped the spine, pinning it to the dirt with a paw and waited.


“He just had and itch and didn’t mind where he spit the spine. I’m.. gunna take him back to Oak’s and… we’ll get him trained on that, right away… It won’t happen again…”


A snarl from deeper inside the house set Leo’s quills to quiver in attention and the boy was not so subtly trying the pokeball to recall him, all but dancing in place. Once, twice… It clicked and hummed but would not recall the rodent. To that unreasonable panic, kicked up when the old woman shuffled off to get “Reddy” the nidoran offered a hissed “Ran?”


And that was understood, but then the phonics weren’t too far from what was on the boy’s mind so it was less of a trial for comprehension.


“She’s got a really grouchy, old, Arcanine inside.” Ash breathed, “It bit Gary last year and they didn’t put it down because she’s like old Viridian fat -meowth rich, rich.”


Another few recall attempts, and when those failed the boy swallowed, a door creaked open and a huffing snarl from the front of the house made Ash go still.


“I’m going to pick you up, and run.” The boy warned, near monotone, and when the door banged open baring the scent of something burning. The boy managed a few steps, a staggered sort of stoop, and Leo was near thrown over the boy’s shoulder as the child got to running.


The better view was no comfort, because, yes, the thing was old, and grey instead of white about its muzzle and furless in spans to boot. But it bore scars and it’s tail plume was thick and tall and… All were hallmarks of a champion battler or guard Arcanine. Most alarming, around the throat where the fur was thinnest he could make out the swollen glands of the creature’s flame sacks, and those…. They were gleaming, seeping red illumination, a precursor of a fire blast.


Profanities came out as squeals in this body; he spit out a familiar sacrilegious turn of phrase and the boy heard, and interpreted it as “Ran Ran!” Or perhaps “run”. Which was better than goggling and protesting the words. The boy did pick up his pace, running as fast as hard as he could… But he was trying to outrace a pseudo-legend that paced them along the property line. Then at the land’s edge the canine hopped the fence, strode into the center of the road and… And the fires were leaking out of the things teeth as it roared at their backs.


“Get rid of them, Reddy! Was hollered from the house.


Stretching his paws, he shoved and the boy, who untrained and uncoordinated as he was, staggered to the side in response to the push on his face. Before they wend down, in that last sane moment, Leo reached over his shoulder and ripped out as many quills as he could out of his own back. He spat blood and venom and spines at the creature behind him as he fell.


Heat and screams as venom took hold and fires were averted was all that’d saved them. That, and the boy pulling himself to up and snapping up the woozy Leo and running again. They ran all the way… well not Home. But to Sam’s. Where it was reasonably safe, and the fire types were less malicious.


XX


It was little surprise that Pallet’s grapevine caught on fire afterwards. Tales of malicious Poison types and other absurdities that Leo’d and the boy had tried to protest, and while Sam had understood one of the two, and surly believed them both… he was powerless. And in seeing that powerlessness the nidoran tried to ply, pry, and eventually sick and tired of not being understood he left the boy to fend off complaints alone while he slipped into Oak’s labs to better snoop.


One bypassed password and firewall later, courtesy of a stolen chopstick and some persistent pecking on the keypad and… well nature had its way with ‘mon born with poison point. And Oak had hared off to tend the damages when electronics met venom and triggered a fire alarm no less.


In the end a decision was made, one part madness, the other part utter mandate.


When Ashton Satoshi Katchem left, he was taking Leo the nidoran with him.

 

[Pen]

Hi K_S! I saw this story a while back and have been meaning to come and check it out--I find Giovanni a fascinating character. I've read the first and second chapters so far.

You've picked a compelling opener--a Giovanni who destroyed Mewtwo, now on trial by the gods. (Very The Eumenides vibes!) I found your characterization of Giovanni strong. His pride, his mix of self-awareness about some aspects of himself and his actions, but his refusal to come to terms with other things, like his own helplessness here, and his very human defiance of anyone who claims to be a god were striking. The relationship between power and morality is a troubled one. Giovanni seems to place himself in the camp of 'might doesn't make right, but who gives a fig about right when you have might?' He's lived his whole life by the rules of force and power, but what he resents here in the moral judgment more so than the physical humiliation. I was interested in the backstory teased with his father, and the question of to what extent Giovanni is his own man, and to what extent he's a creation of his family. Mewtwo's corpse was a poignant set-piece. I do wish we'd gotten a little more on how Giovanni feels about that. He created a thing that embodied the vices of humanity--is that where his failure lies? What was he trying to create instead? After all, he perceives the pure legends as also falling into human practices here. If to judge is human, though, what domain is left for the gods?

There was a lot of vivid imagery in this story and I appreciate how much you're trying to use words in interesting ways. There were a lot of grammatical, syntactical, and logical issues that kept me from feeling this effect in the story, though, and many places where I had to reread three or four times to figure out what the sentence was even attempting to get at. The grammar stuff is the most straightforward--you use a lot of run-ons, are missing a lot of commas and hyphens, and sometimes meld clauses together in a way that leaves no clear subject. All of this creates reader confusion. In the line-edits I've mostly just corrected places and underlined to note the change, but please feel free to ask if you're unclear about what particular grammatical rule is being broken!

Regarding language, there's a difference between using words in innovative and surprising ways and using words in a way that obfuscates meaning or doesn't really align with what the word means. I think you may want to focus on grounding your sentences and paragraphs in what's actually happening before you add in the more figurative flights of fancy. It's sort of like you've frosted a cake here without there actually being any cake underneath. If the reader has to struggle to figure out what's even going on, the prose doesn't land. Imagery depends on its ability to, well, create an image. In the line-by-lines I've pointed out places where your imagery really came through to me, and where it wasn't quite clear.

The language in the second chapter did feel a bit more grounded and less difficult to parse. I really enjoyed Giovanni's indignant reactions to the pop music. I didn't expect the chapter to be so short! The way we drop in on Ash felt a little perfunctory--maybe there's some material from the next chapter you might want to move up?

I'm not really sure where this is going! It's called Dodging Consequences--I wonder if Giovanni will be forced to confront the consequences of the problems he's left behind. Not sure how that will happen if he's a nidoran, though. Or why the legendary pokemon decided on that, of all things, though I won't question the premise.

When I read your description of Mewtwo as a "man-cat demon with the wiles of a thieving child and a mind that could wreck buildings" my mind jumped right to Salvage by @Negrek. have you read that one? I think you'd really appreciate it (and the prose is top-notch). The main character isn't Mewtwo (I won't say what they are), but they fit this description to a tee. As a Giovanni fan (and I think you write Silver as well?), you might be interested in The Meaning of Power by @Cresselia92. I haven't read that one yet, but I hear it's about Silver, Gladion, and a Giovanni from a different dimension! For another take on Giovanni, @unrepentantAuthor's opening chapter in Different Eyes has a nicely done rendition. Final Giovanni shill, I have a chapter from his perspective in Dragon's Dance, though it's quite far in!

For a an who lived dodging the consequences

Typo: a man

(and the title should be capitalized Dodging Consequence)

Judgment was harsh and swift, said in a language of sentiment rather than words.

Judgement is "spoken" rather than said. I don't feel like sentiment and words directly contradict in the way this sentence implies--spoken words can express sentiment. Perhaps, "Judgment was harsh and swift, spoken in the language of wordless sentiment."

A shame the subject of their jurisdiction was not a sentimental man.

I really like this line. Not a sentimental man describes Giovanni to a tee.

Where they said words like travesty and crime he simply saw a room, black smeared the wall, or perhaps it was best to say that the walls smeared the walls. Layers have been vaporized in the violence post the thing’s birth.

On third read, I think what you mean by "walls smeared the walls" is that the walls are smeared with debris from other parts of the walls from the explosion, but since we don't know our setting yet, this feels almost impossibly obtuse.

I don't think "where" is the best subordinating conjunction here. Maybe, "While they said words like "travesty" and "crime," he simply saw a room, the walls smeared black, vaporized from the violence of the creature's birth."

(You need a comma to set off dependent clauses.)

Still, there was something to nature to this unnatural gathering. The cement had charred, energies released had caused friction, and friction had taken to fuel. The results left a peculiar scent that almost like burning, and set pseudo singe across the varied organs involved in breathing.

I think what you're saying here is that the charred room grounds what feels like a wholly supernatural proceeding in the real and physical. Explosions have reasons; they can be understood. But the language here is really obfuscating that, particularly "pseudo singe" and "varied organs involved in breathing." And energy doesn't really cause friction.

Still he drew breath as all about him they judged and perhaps indulged the spiteful thought that he really really should not be breathing.

This needs some commas: "Still, he drew breath, as all about him they judged him and perhaps indulged the spiteful thought that he really, really should not be breathing." (Judged has to take an object, in this case him. It does give you a kind of clunky repetition, though.)

Judgment wasn’t new. These things who thought them so above humanity certainly acted human enough in their little past time. He’d stood against magistrate and military, civilian powers and corporate. The components were much the same; the thinned eyes the scathing regard, the surety that they were better.

In most cases he’d have stood stiff and proud and with that damning grin thrown their expectations to the dirt, proving he to be their better.

I like this moment of Giovanni recognizing something human in gods. Or is it after all the other way around? Perhaps we learned judgment from the gods.

* thought themselves
* proving himself to be their better

If he were feeling merciful he might have absorbed them into his on organization as an asset. Had he not, (most common, more common) he’d have simply minded the blood from their crumpled form on the way out.

I'm not sure I buy the idea that Giovanni has both been put on trial many times, and that he always had the power in those situations to enact retribution after. Generally, with a kind of mafia-style guy like Giovanni, if you're on trial, something's already gone badly wrong. The whole game is in keeping from being on trial in the first place, a network of bribes and plausible deniability that keeps you from being the one in the room.

Those about him could not speak, thus his first weapons of words, was not his to use. They could declare judgment, indicate ire, but he would not understand the roars and twisted screams of this gathering.

Calling words his first weapon contradicts what we were just told, that his go-to is a cocky grin and a defiant attitude? There's also a bit of a logical mismatch in these sentences. The logic seems to run: the legendaries can't themselves speak, so they can't understand Giovanni when he speaks. They could declare judgement (speak?) but Giovanni would not understand them." But just because Giovanni doesn't understand them doesn't imply they can't understand him.

About around, illuminated from their own light rather than the failing illumination of a flickering fixture, were legends made flesh but were beyond his touch. He’d tried once, to touch the impossibilities paraded about him, but had only had his knees buckle and found that the soot sheathed floors matched the crack crazed wall before him.

The image of Giovanni trying to touch the legends and falling to his needs really brings home how out of his depth he is.

"Around him, illuminated more by their own light than by the flickering electric fixtures, were legends made flesh, but they were beyond his touch. He’d tried once to touch the impossibilities parading about him, but his knees had buckled, and he had found that the soot-sheathed floors matched the crack-crazed walls."

Not able to stand he lingered in a pseudo sort of worshipful repose, and perhaps appeased they slowed fom nauseating rotation to a more sedate twirl.

I also really like this image of his weakness forcing him into a pseudo-worshipful pose that's the absolute opposite of how he feels. This image of the legends circling like some terrible, dizzying merry-go-round is also a vivid one.

"Not able to stand, he lingered in a pseudo-worshipful repose. Perhaps this appeased his watchers: they slowed from their nauseating rotations into a more sedate twirl."

The most familiar (part bogeymen and wholly the things in place of explanation of idle childish wonders of the most base basic things) stood before him.

The parenthetical is a bit incoherent. If it's trying to call the legendary pokemon a fantastic explanation that people invent in the place of actual explanations, that mindset is a bit destroyed by them being real, no?

Wings of fire swirled about the originator of storms, switching between seeking to scar heaven scarlet and falling amongst the debris of his own rise.

Since moltres has actual wings, it feels odd to have a description of wings of fire swirling around them. If you're trying to describe the actual wings, Moltres should probably be the subject of the action. if you're trying to describe random fire that's swirling around Moltres, maybe tongues of flame, ribbons, swathes, etc.

The clause about seek to scar heaven etc makes it sound like Moltres is doing all of that right at the moment, rather than it being some sort of general recap of the mythology.

the flame winged beast

* flame-winged

Beast feels like a very odd descriptor for a bird?

Above the warring brothers, keeping the skies from burning by sacrificing the frosty artistry of her own extremities, a falcon of ice resided over all.

Is she really sacrificing anything, if ice is natural to her? And is there any particular "artistry" in it? What does artistry of extremities even mean? Words do have meanings--just because artistry sounds cool doesn't mean it fits what you're describing here.

It twined into a fearful corona, where inner illumination met florescent and to that light and ascent he was all but blind.

Mm, twined into a fearful corona is nice. Does fluorescent refer to the light from the flickering fixtures?

Do you mean that the light and ascent is blinding him?

Still there were hints, hints of shape, and awareness that was both the breath of death yet not dead, and that there was light in that dark and both glowered fiercely at him. Malice beat down on him, like sun sans nutrient, sans burn, save breathing burned.

awareness that was both the breath of death yet not dead - I think I can wrap my head around awareness as the breath of death, but in what sense can awareness be dead?
that there was light in that dark and both glowered fiercely at him. -- which dark? Did he close his eyes? Last we were told, the ascent was blinding him? Is the dark glowering fiercely too?
like sun sans nutrient, sans burn, save breathing burned - I think what you mean is like sunlight without nourishment (ie vitamin c?) Without burn? So without heat? So like sunlight without any quality except for being bright? "Sans" is very oddly placed in a narrative. It's not just a synonym for without, it really has limited use cases without sounding a bit silly.

He’d of laughed, finally finally words after an eternity of mad whirling. Now they wished to speak? Save they weren’t.

Not sure what this last sentence here is trying to say?

Using wall and minding blood, his, and though his legs shook sheer pride got him up and the wall kept him steady and his fingers assured he was awake because his grip was so tight it hurt.

Not sure the first clause adds anything. We hear about the wall later in the sentence.

"Though his legs shook, sheer pride got him up, and the wall kept him steady, and his fingers assured him he was awake, because his grip was so tight it hurt."

Well simply put it never did now, and since time seemed tight he’d live with simple.

Comma needed after well.

it’s impossibilities aside

* its

This place, it’s impossibilities aside, had once been a room. This place with its flickering light, not fortunes and resources unimaginable were reduced to metal scrapings and rubble.

The way "not fortunes and resources unimaginable" is placed in the sentence doesn't rally make sense. Perhaps,
"This place, it’s impossibilities aside, had once been a room. Now fortunes and resources unimaginable were reduced to metal scrapings and rubble."

Some seam had surly sprung, because the one step he’d taken to the dark (their light burned bad enough, he’d not have that failing florescence bother him as well) had let a soft splash in its wake.

Pipe, not seam, I think? Seams aren't usually for water. Surely, not surly. I don't think we need the parenthetical of justification. It's pretty self-explanatory why he might take a step into the dark. A splash isn't really the kind of thing you can leave in your wake.

"Some pipe had surely sprung, because the one step he’d taken into the dark had let out a soft splash."

Unable to decide what was worse (sound and implication, or the fact he couldn’t feel the leg he made work) he took to dark for one last but of comfort, a respite for his eyes.

Do you mean bit instead of but? or bout? Is Giovanni closing his eyes, or continuing to try and walk forward? What does take to the dark mean here?

(sound and implication, or the fact he couldn’t feel the leg he made work) - "the fact he couldn't feel his leg" would read more smoothly, I think. What is the sound and implication he's worried about? Is this about the water, or is this some hesitance about going into the dark?

In this ruble of failed ambition he was dying, surly. After all impossibilities and voices in the head and the like. Still he’d face death standing, unlike the other sacrifice, for now, so long as he could let it, it would be him and the carrion.

*surely

"After all" doesn't make sense in the sentence it's in.

Still he’d face death standing, unlike the other sacrifice, for now, so long as he could let it, it would be him and the carrion. - The first half of this sentence is him deciding to face death standing, unlike presumably Mewtwo? It distinguishes Giovanni from the carrion. But then the second half is saying he wants it to be him and the carrion together for as long as he can? I didn't understand what this is trying to say.

He was not ready to die.

A nice clear line, but I'm curious how this realization fits into the overall sequence--was he ever prepared to die? Is this a realization or simply a restatement?

Death is a force

“And I’ve used it, inflicted lethal means to my enemies, another crime is it? Will we be tallying the numbers then? Tell me, what’s the catch? Where should we start? Am I responsible for those I’ve personally arranged, indirectly caused, or is it simply those who’ve committed murder while claiming to be my proxy by wearing the uniform I’ve gifted them? Define murder you bastards.”

Words will not avail you Leonardo Giovanni.

"Death is a force" has a nice ring, and I'm less bothered by it being less than wholly comprehensible when it's coming from the mouths of creatures who aren't meant to be comprehensible.

Giovanni's weasel-word speech feels very in character. It's a weak argument--however they define murder, he's definitely done at least one--case in point, MewTwo.

"And I’ve used it, inflicted lethal means on my enemies, another crime, is it? Will we be tallying the numbers, then? Tell me, what’s the catch? Where should we start? Am I responsible only for deaths I’ve personally arranged, or for those I've indirectly caused, too, or is it enough for a crime to be committed by those claiming to be my proxy, wearing the uniform I’ve gifted them? Define murder you bastards.”

So spoke the dark and light, a curious co-mingling of opposites he could not see much less comprehend.

If e can't see it, how does he know it's a comingling of dark and light?

Because he couldn’t (or perhaps they wouldn’t, become visible or cross that boundary so he could comprehend) he didn’t.

I like the couldn't, wouldn't, didn't here.

Simply ignoring them and after a few staggering steps found himself by grey tinged corpse, it was a curious coagulation of man and monster, steel colored save without the gloss, the upper torso was crushed, beyond it was a stair a rise and perhaps out. Though the debris was steel plates with stone piled atop them he worked, worrying one rock the size of both his hands, his tugging caused it to clatter free and he stepped aside for the modest rock fall that resulted.

This paragraph is a big run-on and doesn't actually have a subject.

He simply ignored them and, after a few staggering steps, found himself by a grey-tinged corpse. It was a curious coagulation of man and monster, steel-colored but without the sheen. Its upper torso was crushed. Beyond it rose a stairway, up and perhaps out."

"Though the debris was steel plates with stone piled atop them he worked, worrying one rock the size of both his hands, his tugging caused it to clatter free and he stepped aside for the modest rock fall that resulted." -- Having trouble following the logic here. Is Giovanni trying to clear away debris blocking the path to the stairs? It's very unclear.

Multiplicity and singularity all at once, rolling his eyes he gripped an edge, was bloodied for his efforts, but still pulled. The air that gushed out was less than clean but fresher than what he partook. Using his own blood to slick stones he worked one, than another, small things but as he dropped them on the body Mewtwo so coaxed a memory… well it didn’t matter.

This first sentence isn't really a sentence--it doesn't have a subject.

"Multiplicity and singularity all at once, Giovanni thought. Rolling his eyes, he gripped a sharp-edged plate and was bloodied for his efforts, but still pulled."

"but fresher than what he partook" -- this phrase has no semantic meaning. "but it was fresher than the [x] that he had [verbed]" would be a structure that holds meaning.

Creator killed creation, thus sparing himself the trite of mob and torches and other silliness that was supposed to fall upon both creature and maker when the world caught on.

I like the Frankenstein allusion! Mewtwo definitely fits the bill, though in original canon, he ends up operating as his own mob.

"Creator killed creation, thus sparing himself the trite mob and torches and other silliness that was supposed to fall upon both creature and maker when the world caught on."

“You play god. Arceus says he is god, notice how I’m not bowing.”

The invocation of Arceus struck me as very odd. This is clearly Kanto, we've had the legendary birds--what does Arceus have to do with this, and where was Arceus claiming to be a god?

And because it was something Giovanni took what heart he could.

And, because it was something, Giovanni took what heart he could.

(commas and dependent clauses again)

“You want my Mew damned opinion.”

* Mew-damned

Huh, I would not pick out Mew if I were going for a legendary that damns people. Curious what lore gave rise to that epithet?

well the still standing not ravaged by physic summoned earthquake and inferno headquarters.

"well, the still-standing, not ravaged by psychic-summoned earthquake and infernos headquarters."

“Well want it or not, if power made a pokemon god I’d be a god of men, same rules, equal economic opportunities and all that.”

"Well, want it or not, if power makes a pokemon a god, I’d be a god of men. Same rules, equal economic opportunities and all that.”

That… made less sense than it meant too, but was plausible.. firm… maybe. Considering he was talking to fragmentation's of a surly splintering psych Giovanni didn’t really care for coherence. He wanted out, now. Thus resolved he dug quicker and more carelessly.

*surely
"Thus resolved, he dug quicker and more carelessly."

I like this moment of Giovanni realizing he's not at his most coherent, but deciding speaking firmly will probably do the trick. He feels very human here.

I really wish people wouldn’t say that. A chime sweet voice resounded, save no mouth opened and sweet voices weren’t really meant to whine. Feline ears slicked back against its pink skull, Mew flicked its furless flowing tail. I don’t do that.

Ooh, mew feels pretty creepy here. The whining sweet voice that comes from no mouth is a nice touch.

Busy swearing at the rocks that bashed his toes Giovanni resolutely did not care.

I think you may want, "Giovanni resolutely chose not to care." Resolutely implies a decision or effort of will, vs genuinely not caring.

And I don’t think I should do that with Articuno, it sounds unsanitary. Mew noted.

Hah, nice implied cursing.

Cinnibar volcano

*Cinnabar

Except the fire types, find an icy ocean.”

Appreciate Gio's thoroughness here.

Giovanni snarled, feet freed, corpse all but buried (the rocks about it oozing blackly about the base) the head of Team Rocket sank to his knees, panting but not quite able to catch his breath no matter how he strained.

"Giovanni snarled. Feet freed, corpse all but buried (the rocks about it oozing blackly about the base), the head of Team Rocket sank to his knees, panting, but not quite able to catch his breath no matter how he strained."

Though in his head there was a definite rumble about his feet when whatever impossibility that was but wasn’t spoke. The arm of his creature flopped lifelessly in response to the rise and fall of the “speakers” words.

I get the gist--that though he's calling this a hallucination, he keeps seeing physical impacts when the voices speak. the second line conveys this well, but the first line is very jumbled.

Thus entreated the dead thing that he could sort of see through the encroaching darkness.

The dead thing? Is this supposed to be Giratina? I feel like you need a fair amount of sensory clues before you decide that something capable of speaking is dead.

They stared at him, lines and frames swimming and swirling awfully now. Their eyes had teeth and their regard nipped and nibbled.

This is a place where your surreal prose works really well. It's a) grammatical (these are sentences!) and b) reflecting the discohesion that Giovanni is experiencing.

Time slowed as they went back to nattering, sweetness meeting roars and chirps, he smelled char and ozone and rot and earth and ocean and hot bitter exhale as they circled close now, so close he might be able to touch if his hand would lift.

Run-on

"Time slowed as they went back to nattering, sweetness meeting roars and chirps. He smelled char and ozone and rot and earth and ocean and hot bitter exhale as they circled close now, so close he might be able to touch them if his hand would lift."

Finally, he was recalled again, between pants that seemed too slow and thoughts that were too incoherent to be anything save primal.

Wasn't sure whether the pants and thoughts are meant to be Giovanni's or the legends?

Leonardo Giovanni. So murmured a voice that was both memory and starlight, hellishly familiar, yet frustratingly vague. You have done both good and evil, we have given you a gift and you’ve tainted it, but in redemption all accidental you have in turn destroyed that which was flawed before others could suffer due to its madness. You have ended madness inconsolable, yet left us with the grief of never knowing our youngest brother and left a void of our order. Such complexities are unknown to us, so as you are not one of our own how in human laws would you stand?

To that Giovanni grinned, finding something like coherence, and humor, he rasped one word.

“Guilty.”

This sequence really landed. I don't mind the slightly awkward wording of the legendary's speech--it's appropriate, since they are alien. And this finally lays out the root of what's going on here. I like the idea of the legendaries not being able to grasp moral complexities and the weighing of good against evil. And that Giovanni, for all his protests earlier, knows exactly how he should stand--he just doesn't accept it.

Because he was. Of murder, by proxy and directly and in all the shades in between. If they thought themselves gods than add diety-cide to homicide to poke-cide, because he’d done all that and worse and would do all that and worse.

*deicide

All because Ghestis has chained to him a dragon of air and light, a king of storms.

Ghetsis?! That was one name I was not expecting to see in a Giovanni fic. I have literally zero idea what this sentence means. Ghetsis tied Giovanni to a dragon of air and light? What?

They’d not catch one their own, chasing mew had been folly, a quest epitomizing his predecessors foolish vanity, so he’d quit that and legends and tales of gods that might be caught and carried.

They’d make their own.

The first clause is confusing here and I don't think you need it.

"They'd make their own" lands with a lot of oomph. Nice use off a single-line paragraph.

"Chasing Mew had been folly, a quest epitomizing his predecessor's foolish vanity, so he’d quit that—quit legends and tales of gods that could be caught and carried.

They’d make their own."

And they had, hadn’t they, a mad wretched thing, perfect apex of humanities vices and corruption coagulated into the form of a man-cat demon with the wiles of a thieving child and a mind that could wreck buildings. It certainly had done so to this one whilst in the midst of a temper tantrum.

A fun medley of descriptors for Mewtwo.

"Whilst" is an archaic word that disrupts the flow here.

"And they had, hadn’t they, a mad wretched thing, the perfect apex of humanity's vices and corruption coagulated into the form of a man-cat demon with the wiles of a thieving child and a mind that could wreck buildings. It had done here, caught in a temper tantrum."

And what does one do, when one is guilty? So murmured the chime, the voiceless query of the thing he’d seen his father send man after man after only for them to never return. And in that moment, that eternal moment between his first and last breath, wondered of murder by proxy.

“Don’t get caught.”

The back-story detail about Giovanni's father is interesting. I'd never imagined Giovanni inheriting that quest, but I like this idea of him trying to live up to his father, and then abandoning that path to make his own way. Fits with his spite and pride and idea of being self-made.

I think the last bit about murder by proxy is him wondering how many people his father killed? How their tallies compare?

And what does one do, when one is guilty? murmured the chime, the voiceless query of the thing he’d seen his father send man after man after only for them to never return. And in that moment, that eternal moment between his first and last breath, he pondered murder by proxy.

“Don’t get caught.”

(You can "wonder about" something but you can't "wonder of" something. I think "ponder" let's you cut some prepositions and get some nice alliteration with proxy.)

The tingling pressure of an oxygen mask about his face and the wry acknowledgement that everything hurt but didn’t (a medicinal sort of daze ruled his mind making such contradiction possible) told him delusions aside he was alive.

"The tingling pressure of an oxygen mask against his face, and the wry acknowledgement that everything hurt but also didn’t—a medicinal sort of daze ruled his mind, making such contradiction possible—told him that, delusions aside, he was alive."

And considering he could form coherent sentences in his head, hopefully the oxygen deprivation hadn’t left too many damages

* too much damage

A sound worthy of delusions, and fervor dreams but because the world was bereft of mercy it was true and present and happening right now. He was serenaded to off tune renditions of atrocious pop hits, and had no power to lift his hands and clap them over his ears. Or better yet to sit up and roar at the singer to go elsewhere, right now.

Hah, poor baby! Giovanni faces his greatest abuse yet, forced to listen to pop music! This is cutely done, and the literary register propounds the humorous effect.

"A sound worthy of delusions and fervor dreams, but because the world was bereft of mercy, it was true and present and happening right now. He was serenaded to off-tune renditions of atrocious pop hits, and had no power to lift his hands and clap them over his ears. Or, better yet, to sit up and roar at the singer to go elsewhere, right now."

Any violations of his boundaries, even a touch to sooth pain, were considered serious infractions.

So, this wasn’t a Rocket facility then.

Nice logic here.

That revelation lingered in his mind, dazed by pain and lured by dark coherence left him for a while.

This is very jumbled. I think you mean, "That revelation lingered in his mind, as, dazed by pain and lured by the dark, coherence left him for a while."

The second time he work it was dark.

* woke

After a moments dazed contemplation on nothingness he decided the pillow was nice. Nice and soft and any nuzzling that occurred to it was entirely coincidental.

Also cute.

"After a moment's dazed contemplation on nothingness, he decided the pillow was nice. Nice and soft and any nuzzling against it that occurred was entirely coincidental."

Muzzly wondering what sounded wrong about that he flexed numb feeling fingers and should have been alarmed, might have been… There was something wrong with his hands…

"Muzzily wondering what sounded wrong about that, he flexed numb-feeling fingers and should have been alarmed, might have been… There was something wrong with his hands…"

Ah, because he doesn't actually have hands anymore.

But what alarm that inconsistency of should have been and was now was masked under the allure of soft dark (and the meds, whatever dose this was it wasn’t going to be repeated, ever) that dragged higher thought down and nearly caused a yawn.

The first part of this sentence is really jumbled and hard to parse.

Maybe, "But any alarm that inconsistency should have sparked was masked by the soft dark"?

it was likely the fussing he decided.

"it was likely the fussing, he decided."

Even as hands shuffled blankets and shifted his pillow so his heavy feeling head didn’t seem quite so lopsided Giovanni decided he wasn’t going to be too surly about the fussing right now.

"Even as hands shuffled blankets and shifted his pillow so his heavy feeling head didn’t seem quite so lopsided, Giovanni decided he wasn’t going to be too surly about the fussing right now."

Far away from the sleeping person, from his tender,

Tender meaning person who tends is such a rare use of the word that this sentence was confusing to read.

He dreamt without sleeping, for his eyes were wide open and he all but bounced in his seat never mind there was no seat, the floor took the trouncing just fine.

I like the image of Ash dreaming without being asleep as he envisions being a pokemon master. "dreamt" and "for" are needlessly archaic here.

"He dreamed without sleeping—his eyes were wide open, and he all but bounced in his seat. Never mind that there was no seat; the floor took the trouncing just fine."

A rap on the door frame, the only option since the door was wide open anyway, got him to turn about.

*turn around

“Ash, sweat heart, it’s more than time to go to sleep.”

*sweet-heart

“And I know, you want a ‘mander,” she smiled, because she did know. Her little boy wasn’t like so many others.

Wanting a charmander is pretty much the most typical thing I could think of?

“Going to bed ,” a sigh, “but Mooom.”

“Going to bed”—a sigh, — “but Mooom.”

the dark behind his eyes chased off of dreams to come true come morning.

Not sure whether you're trying to say that the darkness chased off dreams, or that the darkness was chased off by dreams?

 

[K_S]

Thanks for taking the time.

And I apologize in advanced for the readability issues. I’m working on re-doing a number of my fic (and acquiring a beta) since it’s been drawn to my attention how bad some of the structural/clarity problems are. I had not realized they were compromising readability so much and am taking steps to correct that...

Actually I’m so familiar and thus able to add so much nuance to Gio simply because I’d fumbled with his character for neigh sixty chapters in a different fic. And so I can actually answer the “his own man” question right out the gate.

Though he does answer it a little in chapter 3.

It’s about a fifty fifty draw. He was royally messed up by his upbringing and is right now embracing the worst aspects of it utterly up to this point. In the other story Gio takes years (and sixty chapters) to start to break away from the conditioning and start to become a semi morally grey person. In this version he’s not even started the process yet.

I believe as this story goes on Gio will dwell on how he was feeling about the Mewtwo disaster when it’s safe to do so. At that moment he’s all but catatonic and the later chapters he’s so discombobulated by reality taking a sharp left that he isn’t thinking just reacting. In chapter one though the Rocket had smacked headfirst into a wall of utter rage because something he made to be controlled had slipped the leash and had to put it down. Deeper feels will occur when he cools down and actually think it over.

Horror is going to be on the top of the list though.

It was the act of creation for some of the ‘mon, the act of infusing a Legend with humanities madness for others that ticked them off and got them involved. Each Legend was judging him for its own reasons. Or just overseeing it for their own curiosity. Or because Arceus grabbed them by the scuff and dragged them over. I however couldn’t think of a good way to show all that so I left the Legend’s feelings out of the chapter.

As for Gio’s end goal… I need to clarify this better but Ghestis manages to catch the Legends in his region “he chained a dragon of light and storm” line… Gio’s push to get project Mewtwo off the ground and the reason he took so many risks that it literally blew up in his face was because Plasma was winning. Mewtwo was a desperate countermeasure to keep that mad man off of his front step and he had to put it down because it was too crazy to even be weaponized.

As far as Gio’s concerned Legends are just ‘mon, ‘mon are just creature like men are, and some are more useful than others. He anthromorphizes the Legend’s rational because he can’t understand it otherwise and as for gods, there is none. It’s all just a sliding scale of power and the divine as far as he’s concerned is a skinny, floating, furless, mutated, Persian. Which can be conveniently shoveled into a ball, and used to kill others.


I wanted to show the two main protags before they meet each other, that’s why there’s a Ash/Gio content divide. While I could drop the Ash segment for tonal reasons I really wanted to keep the sweet shout out to the original anime before I grabbed the premise and jumped the whole lot off the rails and into a volcano of altered plot. And I was struggling to put it in the following chapter since it started at Oak’s with the ‘mon picking. I’ll revisit during my edit.. or perhaps just add to it and shipon it off as it’s own chapter when I get there. I’m undecided.

Well you got it in one. The ‘mon basically stripped the most power hungry man in Kanto of all his authority and human based power, shoved him into a form of a near helpless Nidoran and left him to rot.

Their reasons are part irony -he is a poisonous piece of work, literally and metaphorically, as his fall is going to show a lot of corruption/rot and hurt a lot of innocent people (Oak’s dealing with that starting chapter 3). Part familiarity, the Nido line is in his stable of fighting ‘mon, that’s left a sort of spiritual imprint on him that the Legends picked up on. And the final evolution plays off on his name –Gio/Geo/ground- and it being corrupted (poison sub type) for full points.

Gio had been dodging the consequences of his actions “not getting caught” up until that point, and now it’s all come home to roost and his journey, when it kicks off, is going to shove him nose first into the issues he’s made. As for how… well I’ll leave that as a mystery but I’ve plans.

Cue evil cackling, thunder sound effect, and other signs of melodrama.

As a mild spoiler I will say that some of it’s going to be a bit light hearted. Gio walking into a pit trap from a certain trio is in the books, perhaps twice.

It’s… coughs… a bit of a guilty pleasure. I’ve done this to him in another story. With canon Ash present to moan about how he wants two week off after this Pikanapping attempts, and can’t Gio make them stop, and Gio is blue screen of deathing right next to Ash because he thought this was a stupid horror story that wasn’t true...

And Jessie and James don’t notice him. Because they are that oblivious…

Until he whips out Nidoking and orders a hyperbeam and Ash is all like “wow, that’s one way to make Team Rocket blast off,” and Gio just dies on the inside trying not to lose it for so many reasons.

Thanks for all the nice looking reads! I’m definitely tabbing them on my list. And no, most of my reads are from a03 in this fandom, and it’s honestly been years since I poked at it. So I’m horridly behind. My resource for reading fic is definitely changing due to all the high quality works I’m finding after just a few days of poking around here though!

My list is over thirty fics to review… Well thirty six now. I’m hoping to clear one of them away soon as I’m done replying here.

Oh yes I am a hard core fan of Silver and Gio both in their many manifestations in canon and fandom.

To answer a few questions. All the regions overlap, all the bosses exist at once, all the mon legends are known if ones wiling to research. How Gio knows of Arceus is he’s well-read and on the topic of Legends he’s got a master’s degree, all illegal, mind. He cycled through the lot before deciding to make Mewtwo synthetically since it’d take less effort than other legends that require relics and rituals and red chains and the like.. As for why Mew it’s on his mind, it’s synthetic child’s under his feet but I couldn’t think of a way to say that without bogging down the scene.

All the names, and weirdly enough Cinnabar and Viridian keep getting corrected by this comps auto correct. Then the Forum and a03’s auto correct prompts keep telling me it’s wrong and try to change it to other things…

I couldn’t spell it out yet but in my notes…

Considering Gio’s father was planning on shoveling Legends into pokeballs and using them to decimate armies and nations because the man was an utterly megalomaniac. Gio’s plan of making his own Legends to put down the existing Legends and kill his enemies (the other Teams) comes across as a bit tamer. The only reason Gio’s father’s kill count hadn’t hit the thousands/millions mark was lack of opportunity. His plans didn’t pan out and Gio kills him and takes over the Team in his late teens, that put a damper on the killing too. Gio’s kill count is significantly lower than expected because he’s more cautious than his father was (he doesn’t hire willy-nilly and have a multitude he needs to dispose of when they turn out to be disappointments) and he actually has plans set to phase people out of Team Rocket if they fulfill a tenor much like a retirement plan in a corporation. You get a paycheck dictated by the value of what you stole/what assets you provided, access to resources outside the Team, a free leash, and a complete psychic memory wipe of all your illegal activities so they can’t turn traitor if you have an attack of conscious in your later years.

The same happens if you fail enough. You get hauled into an office and mentally wiped clean, then tossed on the street to die.

I’ve copied and pasted your fix-up lines for application when I get my editing spree started. This will help immensely. Thanks for taking the time to do such a detailed line by line…