Oliver, The Legionnaire's Son

Chapter One: Independent Capture.

Oliver had always been a sheltered child. His father, a passionate and protective man by the name of Lysandre, had taken many steps to ensure that Oliver was not endangered growing up. Oliver had been told many times by now of the first time he had an asthma attack—it was at the age of four when Lysandre had shown him a Pokemon for the first time up close. It was an oshawott, with smooth, sleek fur and a shell on its stomach that it held out to Oliver with a wide smile on its face.

Oliver and the oshawott would chase each other around the room, playing games of hide and seek or tag; this would go on for the better half of an hour before Lysandre noticed something was wrong. Oliver had stopped chasing the oshawott around; he lay on the ground, a rattling sound all that could come from his paling lips. Beside him, the oshawott poked at the fallen boy with concern, but this seemed to only make it worse. Within minutes, Oliver was in shock and had to be rushed to the hospital.

Yet, Oliver's brush with death seemed to only spur on his desire to learn about the mysterious creatures he shared his world with. Even though another oshawott was out of the question – despite many days spent futilely bargaining with his father over how well his treatments were going, how he had not had a severe attack in weeks – he longed to play with a Pokemon again. But Lysandre had not forgotten what had happened that fateful day, and forbade Oliver from going outside unsupervised, where a chance encounter with another Pokemon might end in asphyxiation.

That was, Oliver thought to himself as he walked the grungy streets of Lumiose City, until today. A few years ago, his father would not have even considered exposing Oliver to the dirt and grime that accumulated on every park bench, lamppost, and the signposts pocketed with a rainbow of chewing gum leftover by bored tourists. But Oliver had proven himself capable in his father's eyes by now and had earned the right to vie for his independence.

Oliver was not here to sightsee, however. He was on a mission – to capture his first-ever pokemon. A part of him wanted to look for an oshawott; his father *had* given him permission to capture anything he encountered freely in the streets of the city after all. But, as his father had reminded him, oshawott was a rarer sort of Pokemon that would not be found wandering the streets of Kalos' largest city. He would have to do without the first species of Pokemon he held contact with.

In front of a small building that advertised itself as a popular gaming company, Oliver heard the shrill cries of what had to be a pokemon. Oliver's heart skipped and he found himself hoping that it was not another trainer's pokemon. He reached for his right pocket, where he felt for the hard, cylindrical case of his inhaler. Next month would make his first full year without an attack, but he still felt the need to brush his fingers over the smooth plastic, comforted by the notion that if something did happen, he would not be caught unprepared.

An inspection of the alleyway beside Game Freak Studios held no sign of hooligans, and Oliver could hear more of that same, shrill cry from behind a rusted green dumpster. He walked over, careful not to make any sudden motions when the object of the cries came into view. Oliver knew that it could not belong to any trainer, for its abnormally blue fur was matted, and it was thinner than the average zorua was. Oliver prided himself on knowing a lot about Pokemon from the books in his father's study, and he knew that the zorua before him was underweight; its ribs poked against the side of its matted fur and it glared at him with wary eyes.

"You want to be my partner?" Oliver asked. He held out a granola bar, taking a bite of it to show that it wasn't dangerous. "Here," he said. "I know it's probably not what you would like to eat, but it's better than trash, right? We have better food back at my house."

The zorua sniffed the granola bar before startling Oliver as it leaped forward, ripping it out of his hands. Oliver's breath hitched and he found himself reaching for his inhaler. But after a few calculated breaths, he determined that it was merely excitement that had incited the sharp intake of air. Soon, Oliver was coaxing the granola bar's wrapping from the zorua's clenched teeth, hoping that his act of kindness would not bear the ironic fate of a zorua's choking to death on it.

He held out another granola bar – this one had the wrapper fully removed – and a pokeball in the other. "What do you say, little guy?" he asked. "Wanna be my partner?"

The zorua chomped down on the granola bar, not caring about the ball in question. Its red eye glinting curiously as Oliver seemed to watch him at a careful distance.

Zorua was usually distrustful of humans, but hey; food is food, right? He soon finished off the bar, padding closer to the flame-haired boy, who timidly reached out and gave him a quick pat on the head.

Zoura felt something that he hadn't felt in a long time.

He felt that this human couldn't be bad, not like the other one. He looked up at the gawky, flame-haired boy with silver eyes and a happy smile and felt a dull ache in his heart. He thought of his past trainer, thought of his previous trainer… that he couldn't save. He felt protective of this slightly wheezing young man and heard the gentle hiss of the inhaler.

Zoura knew why he was so protective… his trainer was the same way. He hopped up onto Oliver's shoulder, yipping quietly.

He remembered his days as a service Pokemon and stayed by his trainer's side, being as asthmatically friendly as a member of his species could get. His job was to keep a watchful eye out for Pokemon that were more inclined to be supplements to his condition, like Steel and water types without fur. Grass types had powders, some Fairy types had some sort of furry sheen to them. Zorua vowed to never again slack off on any of his trainers. Luckily Oliver had a face mask to keep such irritants out of his breathing. It looked like a small respirator, filtering the air so that he could breathe much better than usual. Oliver smiled, petting his new friend and leaving the dump of an alley behind.

Lysandre paced, he did that a lot nowadays with his son being as gung-ho about going on his journey. His Bisharp, Legionnaire, watched his master with slight concern, Lysandre couldn't lose his precious boy to the cruel world that forced him and his love apart. So he made up the lie that he was ashmatic, a stroke of genius. Even if he had just one 'attack' and a couple parsed out after, Oliver stayed inside, where Lysandre could keep his baby boy safely tucked away.

Now that he was at that age where he wanted to go on his journey, Lysandre decided to finally move and go to Alola, where the cleanest, most ecologically friendly air was. So his son could finally go on that journey he wanted so badly. Lysandre remembered those times where Legionnaire and he had to calm his son down from his tears, not being able to assist his son without the fear of another attack. His mother was a champion from a far off region, after a night full of champagne and unguarded secrets due to the libations, they had Oliver to worry about. Well, more him than her. He wasn't too bothered by that fact, but Oliver wanted to meet her so badly, and he understood. Every time he looked into those silver eyes and saw her looking back at him, with that sly smirk of, 'I know my Pokemon beat yours three times over, and you barely got past my ghost-dark type,'. He heard the door open.

"Dad! I'm back!" Oliver's voice pealed out. Lysandre left his study and saw his son carrying a Zorua in his arms. Immediately, Lysandre tensed, his fatherly instincts telling him to watch for the signs. None were found, considering that shiny Pokemon with fur were more sought after due to their tendency to not shed and were generally more used for service, it put the man at ease.

"Where'd you find him?" Lysandre asked.

"Well… I found him at that old gaming company, layin' n' a dumpster an' he was all thin so I wan' to make 'im my partner," Oliver explained, his vernacular relaxing.

"Well, it's good that you found a partner before we got to Alola," Lysandre chuckled, with Zorua looking up at his trainer's father balefully.

"Do you think I'll find Mom?" he asked, his eyes looking into his father's. There was so much about him that reminded Lysandre painfully of the one that he gave his heart to. Oliver's passion for folklore, Pokemon battling, and general respect for strong opponents were a testament to that. His general zest for life and passion for finer things was more of Lysandre's personality shining through. He sat on the end of Oliver's bed, seeing the posters for so many tournaments and battle finals that he had watched on television with a younger Oliver. All of the ones his mother participated in.

"Yes, I think you'll find her," Lysandre sighed. He didn't know that she wanted to find them, too.

Cynthia, by all accounts, wasn't one to divulge secrets too much. Her whirlwind relationship with Lysandre Fleur De Lis was one of such secrets. She remembered the fallout shamefully, remembering Lysandre's rage and his forceful taking of her baby. He had her last name and everything, she set her son up for greatness, for carrying on the legacy of Solaceon. So when she heard that Lysandre was going to Alola, she immediately packed her bags, more determined than ever to see her baby boy. The first time she laid eyes on her baby, she never wanted to let him go. So once she found him, she wasn't ever going to let him go again.

Lysandre was going to pay. She owed her son so much time together.

Alola was a paradise on Earth, lush, verdant foliage exploded to life everywhere you looked, even the scrub grass was healthy. Due to cultural diversity, there were tons of billions of Pokemon from other regions. Due to cultural diffusion, the same applied to the people.

Oliver woke up in his new room at their new house, his dad was super glad that they got the place when they did. His room was still filled with boxes, and Zorua was waiting patiently for his trainer to pack.

"Clothes?" Lysandre asked.

"Check," Oliver responded.

"Phone?" his father asked.

"Check," Oliver answered.

"Inhaler?" Lysandre offered, holding it out.

Oliver took it solemnly, "Check…" he sighed.

Lysandre helped his son unpack and repack a lot of his clothes, toiletries, and other things into his bag. He was used to that, he did a lot for his son, now… seeing as he was going to go out on his own? It made his heartache. Legionnaire watched his master's son pack, feeling the same pang.

"Son, remember, if you're having trouble, give me a call," he reminded.

"Dad, I have my Zorua, I'll be okay…" Oliver said, sliding his mask over his face. Zorua hopped up on his trainer's shoulder, yipping in excitement. Lysandre watched his son leave.

"Bye, son…" he muttered, Legionnaire tugged on his sleeve.

"Hm? Oh, you feel the same way, right old friend?" he asked.

Legionnaire nodded, and they went on with their day.

Oliver and Zorua made an odd pair as they traveled down the way towards Iki Town, with excitement bubbling in their hearts. They felt like they were the first to explore the island region, excitedly jogging. He didn't want to push himself too hard. Zorua knew that his trainer had limited stamina and breathing capacity, he was taught to watch for signs of that. That's when they saw the small gray pokemon running towards him.

"Gub!" it chirped.

"Huh?" Oliver wondered.

"Gu!" it continued, nudging his hand. This was a Gible, and Oliver knew his mother had a Garchomp. He remembered because she would let her Garchomp watch him when he was little.

"What're you doing out here?" Oliver asked.

Zorua and Gible faced off, their eyes glaring holes into each other. Gible smiled and nudged Oliver's hand. A pokeball was there in his hand, it had scuff marks on it and looked like it was chewed on a bit.

"Alright! C'mon, Gible!" Oliver said.

Zorua went up to their new partner, "What type are you?" He growled.

Gible smirked, his eyes narrowing, "Dragon and Ground, and you're a wimpy little Dark-type! My mother is the strongest trained Garchomp ever known! A fool like you can't hope to possibly measure up!" Gible bragged, his smirk wider.

Zorua just hopped up on Oliver's shoulder and the new trio faced Iki Town, ready to give it all they've got!