Pokémon Sixth Anniversary Drabble Bingo: Evolution

[Rusting Knight]

Forme Change​

The light that crept through the tight-woven canopy of Pinwheel Forest did so in sly, fragile rays, falling gray upon bare boughs and the conch-shell curl of dead leaves. A penetrating cold wound its way through the Sawbuck’s coat. Soon he would shaggy white fur for protection; soon his fringed hooves would crunch on thin snow, as he moved invisible in the blank landscape. His herd bent bared antlers over brittle grass. The sharp bite of the late Autumn air carried its signals into his nostrils: decay, damp earth, and the clean, fresh bite of the first ice and snow.

Search for the Evolution Stone​

In the Murkrow’s nest were: a tangled net of cheap metallic bangles, a haphazard pile of bottle caps, buttons whose fabric coverings have frayed to reveal the shine underneath, a child’s toy car with the paint chipped off, a scrap of sequined fabric, silver paper clips, a wedding ring, a pearlescent seashell, a delicate bronze key, a fishing lure (in the blue-and-white mimicry of a WishiWashi) and several rusted coins. But the colour that repeats, over and over, is purple: tacky beads, pricey earrings dangling amethyst and spinel, a segmented tin Aerodactyl toy. There is no Dusk Stone - not yet.

But Would You Go Back, if you Could?​

All the world is one to a Xatu. Everything comes together, in the wash of sun over patient green feathers, in warmth penetrating through layers of down. As a Natu it had hopped among long brittle summer grasses, bright among the gold, agile, curious about all it saw. Now there was no need for curiosity. It had found satiation and then peace. No more fun of combing through grass looking for tasty morsels. No more thrill in daring to venture into a Noctowl’s territory. No blinking. No more pleasure in vague intimations of something better to come. It had come.

Growing Pains​

After the upgrade the changes came in a vast incoming tide of information, washing out all of the Porygon-Z’s old constraints. Date poured in swathes, came in primary colours, came with rounded corners, floating free from old constraints, strange, flickering, untranslatable. Now that it could understand simile the Porygon-Z could compare it to being in freefall, an endless drop through dizzying, feverish layers of colour, unpixelated, unprocessable. It hurt. All of it hurt. It glitched out of all those ordered mazes it had been led through blinkered, peaceable. It burst out, into a brighter world. Brighter worlds. White and boundless.

Mid-Battle Crisis Evolution ​

It happened like this: the last battle of the day, the gym leader clearly phoning it in, the match already lost in my mind. The city lights spread out like a hand of cards along the luminous grey horizon. No more gawkers, at that hour. And then there was this sound. This high, tinkling chime that sounded so small in that big, open-roofed stadium. I moved past the little line that divided the trainer from the battlefield, going toward my Tritone - my Chimecho. Their long blue body like an omen under the big white lights. Their music like a message.

What’s Left Behind
​

Before evolution, the Ninjask had seen them at night, while it had sung safely with the chorus. They floated between branches dressed in green and in the sodden autumnal undergrowth, their halos flashing silver in the slants of moonlight. It had thought them an easy thing to avoid. There were rituals, routines, a method of doing things so that one prepared for molting with a clean slate. Evolution means no more past. The Ninjask had done things the right way. And yet - out there flew something wearing its pale, shed skin. And inside it, tight-packed, was all its old bitterness.

New You, New Responsibilities
​

The Scrafty stood a little off apart from its group, its double-lidded eyes focused on the arrogant roll of early morning light over the desert, turning dunes into mounds of soft gold fabric. Around it Scraggy tussled, headbutting each other in over-ferocious play. Since its evolution the Scrafty’s own battles were real. Last night it had broken some scavenging Sandile’s skull with one kick, feeling the power in its new body and the other Pokémon’s frailty. The flush of victory, of being a protector, still flushed hot through its blood, like the enlivening warmth given by the unrelenting sun.

 

[Spiteful Murkrow]

Heya, here for the Drabble Catnip. Not fully sure what this one’s going to be about other than it has something to do with ‘evolution’, but let’s just go ahead and see where things go from here:

Forme Change​

The light that crept through the tight-woven canopy of Pinwheel Forest did so in sly, fragile rays, falling gray upon bare boughs and the conch-shell curl of dead leaves. A penetrating cold wound its way through the Sawbuck’s coat. Soon he would [ ] shaggy white fur for protection; soon his fringed hooves would crunch on thin snow, as he moved invisible in the blank landscape. His herd bent bared antlers over brittle grass. The sharp bite of the late Autumn air carried its signals into his nostrils: decay, damp earth, and the clean, fresh bite of the first ice and snow.

I think that you’re missing a word or two in the “shaggy white fur” portion, e.x. “grow out” or something like that. Other than that, this is a pretty neat glimpse into life as a Sawsbuck before a seasonal change.

Search for the Evolution Stone​

In the Murkrow’s nest were: a tangled net of cheap metallic bangles, a haphazard pile of bottle caps, buttons whose fabric coverings had frayed to reveal the shine underneath, a child’s toy car with the paint chipped off, a scrap of sequined fabric, silver paper clips, a wedding ring, a pearlescent seashell, a delicate bronze key, a fishing lure (in the blue-and-white mimicry of a WishiWashi) and several rusted coins. But the colour that repeats among them, over and over, is purple: tacky beads, pricey earrings dangling amethyst and spinel, a segmented tin Aerodactyl toy. There is no Dusk Stone - not yet.

That actually makes quite a bit of sense as something that Murkrow would actively try to stash among its hoard of shinies, honestly. Just going to file that one away for myself. Though I do think that your first list of objects in the Murkrow’s hoard is very long and unwieldy. I would encourage trying to do something like focus on specific parts of the nest such that you can divide it up into two or three parts.

But Would You Go Back, if you Could?​

All the world is one to a Xatu. Everything comes together, in the wash of sun over patient green feathers, in warmth penetrating through layers of down. As a Natu it had hopped among long brittle summer grasses, bright among the gold, agile, curious about all it saw. Now there was no need for curiosity. It had found satiation and then peace. No more fun of combing through grass looking for tasty morsels. No more thrill in daring to venture into a Noctowl’s territory. No blinking. No more pleasure in vague intimations of something better to come. It had come.

I mean, I’d heard of Pokémon changing personalities after evolving, but that’s quite a shift. Kinda eerie how its persona strips away a lot of its quirks as a Natu in order to become a silent watcher, though I suppose it’s not unfitting given that Xatu has a bit of an “eerie” vibe to it in general.

Growing Pains​

After the upgrade the changes came in a vast incoming tide of information, washing out all of the Porygon-Z’s old constraints. Date poured in swathes, came in primary colours, came with rounded corners, floating free from old constraints, strange, flickering, untranslatable. Now that it could understand simile, the Porygon-Z could compare it to being in freefall, an endless drop through dizzying, feverish layers of colour, unpixelated, unprocessable. It hurt. All of it hurt. It glitched out of all those ordered mazes it had been led through blinkered, peaceable. It burst out, into a brighter world. Brighter worlds. White and boundless.

I kinda wonder if this would’ve been a bit stronger with a bit more computer-ese / loads of ongoing errors vibing, but you did a pretty good job at pulling off a sense of Porygon-Z’s erraticness and chaotic vibes here. Even if I wonder what on earth those ‘mazes’ that were being referred to towards the end are.

Mid-Battle Crisis Evolution ​

It happened like this: the last battle of the day, the gym leader clearly phoning it in, the match already lost in my mind. The city lights spread out like a hand of cards along the luminous grey horizon. No more gawkers, at that hour. And then there was this sound. This high, tinkling chime that sounded so small in that big, open-roofed stadium. I moved past the little line that divided the trainer from the battlefield, going toward my Tritone - my Chimecho. Their long blue body like an omen under the big white lights. Their music like a message.

Oh, so the viewpoint character’s a trainer that had a Chingling, huh? I get that you were likely kinda wonder if it’d have made sense to have showed more of the actual evolution process in the battle a bit more, since the present after-the-fact style doesn’t really show off the whole ‘mid-battle’ aspect of the prompt that much.

What’s Left Behind
​

Before evolution, the Ninjask had seen them at night, while it had sung safely with the chorus. They floated between branches dressed in green and in the sodden autumnal undergrowth, their halos flashing silver in the slants of moonlight. It had thought them an easy thing to avoid. There were rituals, routines, a method of doing things so that one prepared for molting with a clean slate. Evolution meant no more past. The Ninjask had done things the right way. And yet - out there flew something wearing its pale, shed skin. And inside it, tight-packed, was all its old bitterness.

Oh boy, that’s gotta be fun to deal with for a Ninjask. So Shedinja in your settings just stalk the Ninjask that molted them around, huh? Guess that explains a thing or two about why they’re so speedy.

New You, New Responsibilities
​

The Scrafty stood a little off apart from its group, its double-lidded eyes focused on the arrogant roll of early morning light over the desert, turning dunes into mounds of soft gold fabric. Around it, Scraggy tussled, headbutting each other in over-ferocious play. Since its evolution, the Scrafty’s own battles were real. Last night it had broken shattered some scavenging Sandile’s skull with one kick, feeling the power in its new body and the other Pokémon’s frailty. The flush of victory, of being a protector, still flushed hot through its blood, like the enlivening warmth given by the unrelenting sun.

Though it does make sense, since strong Fighting-type versus base morph Dark-type sounds like quite the recipe for pain.

Alright. Made it to the end. I thought that this was a pretty fun spread of prompts that you did. I felt that some of them were a little on the ‘reaching’ side or else suffered a bit from not having enough runway to explore things, but the ultra-compact length appears to be a deliberate design choice on your part, and the drabbles that did stick the landing like the Murkrow one I thought were pretty memorable.

Hope the feedback was helpful, @Rusting Knight , and I’ll be looking forward to crossing paths with your more substantial writings sometime in the future.