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.
