Two Guys, a Girl, and a Pikachu
:: 2GGP2 ::
~Dear Diary~
You know, I actually forgot about this thing since the night I wrote after leaving home, I've been so busy. But now I've got LOADS of time, let me tell you! (Writing doesn't really display sarcasm very well, in case you haven't noticed.)
So a few weeks after I wrote last I'm walking along, minding my own business, right? I didn't find anyone to tag along with in Pewter or Viridian, but that was no big deal, so I didn't spend much time there. Oh no, brilliant, spectacular me decides to head SOUTH!
Now you're probably sitting there thinking (assuming you can sit and think) "So what?" So was I. I saw a river. Woo-hoo, right? I mean, the only excitement I felt was a result of the prospect of catching a new Water Pokémon, since I am, after all, Training to be a WATER MASTER.
So anyway, I decided to try and fish out something, you know? Completely normal, everyday behavior. Nothing out of the ordinary—until this HUGE FLIPPIN' GYARADOS appears!
Now I must admit, my initial reaction was something along the lines of, "Ooh, I'm gonna catch it!" Hey, I set high standards for myself, all right? So there I was, flopped down on the riverbank with a fishing pole in my hand, debating what to do first (Azumarrill needed the Experience, but could he handle it?) when the Gyarados stops thrashing around suddenly. Very unusual. So I looked up, and I saw something even MORE unusual.
There was a kid and a small yellow blotch on the Gyarados's head.
Now, I've come to find that that 'blotch' was really a Pikachu and that that 'kid' was really an idiot. He fell into the water and immediately begin to drown, so I called out Starmie and threw out my fishing pole, naturally, to try and save the kid. Big mistake.
As soon as the Gyarados is gone this kid starts going off about all these mad Spearow and I think he's off his cracker, of course, until the Spearow actually COME. AND it starts to rain. Perfect. Absolutely spiffing.
So we get on my sisters' bike to get away, but THAT doesn't work because the idiot kid steers us right off a cliff! A CLIFF! How do you miss a friggin' CLIFF?
When I came to he was gone, and so was his Pikachu. Wonderful. There were Spearow everywhere, and all of them looked like they had been barbequed or something. Disgusting.
And then I saw my bike.
Let's just say it's beyond repair.
Now I don't know what this idiot kid did to it, or why, but as my bike was my only means of fast transportation across this Mew-forsaken planet, I got mad. I'm STILL mad. Furious. Livid. Outraged.
Ooh, that kid is SO going to pay . . .
I mean, wouldn't YOU be mad? He LEFT me there with nothing but my ruined bike and his flippin' JACKET! What was I supposed to do with THAT? I mean, it's not even FASHIONABLE!
And now I can't even yell at him because he's in "Intensive Care." Stupid doctors barely let me in his room. He's unconscious, by the way, and it serves him right. I mean, do you KNOW how far that cliff was from the nearest road? DO YOU? I somehow managed to drag my bike over to one, where this scary truck driver picked me up. He was creepy and fat and he said he liked my hair and he SCARED ME!
I swear, if that kid ever wakes up I will pound him back into oblivion for what he put me through . . .
But now my hand hurts from writing and, looking back, I see I've probably written enough anyway. So now I'm gonna go check on that moron again, and maybe get a snack out of the vendor or something . . .
:: 2GGP2 ::
The Infamous Brock Log:
Oh man, I am SO exhausted . . .
To make a long story short, a lot of stuff happened today. Yeah. I got four Trainers before lunch (I beat three; the forth is on her way to Vermillion now) and then I had to close down the Gym for the rest of the day because Susie sprained her ankle (she was playing Superman [?] with Bobby and James) and had to be taken to the hospital. Oy . . .
Right now the twins are taking a nap and the rest of the horde is fixated by the TV. Bless Spongebob Squarepants. I have to go now, though, and get dinner started. I'll try and write again when everyone's in bed.
—Brock-o
P.S.
Chicken or pizza?
:: 2GGP2 ::
:: Ash ::
There was a bright light shining uncomfortably on my face. I moaned weakly and rolled over, draping one arm over the side of the bed. Was it morning already?
"Dr. Treachel, please report to room 316 immediately. Dr. Treachel, you are needed in room 316."
I frowned at the immeasurably load noise as the vibration sent pulses of ache through my pounding head. Why did it hurt so much? And where was my moth—wait a minute, why was someone searching for Dr. Treachel in my bedroom?
I wiped away the glue sticking my eyes shut with an arm that didn't want to rise more than a few inches from the bed and stared around me in confused amazement. This wasn't my room. I had a better TV and a PS2—this room was completely white with a tiny little 8" hooked up in the corner. And mine had better carpeting. And sheets. The ones I was using smelled like my grandmother's house.
But then—where was I? Why wasn't I in my own bed? Whose bed was I—?
It all came back to me in one big, wild rush. The Pikachu, the river, the girl—the girl!
I stumbled clumsily out of the hospital bed, wincing painfully as every single miniscule little thing inside me protested. I realized my right arm was bound tightly in a thin bandage/cast. Perfect. Ignoring it, I realized with disgust that I was wearing only a thin little paper nightgown. I hated those. My clothes were draped across the foot of my bed, though, so I concentrated on pulling those on as I tried to sort out what had happened in my head.
I had somehow managed to make it to Viridian, obviously, and had gotten Pikachu some medical attention. I hadn't known that I had needed it until a bunch of people dressed in white shoved me onto a table, asked me a bunch of questions, and injected something into my arm. Were they allowed to do that without permission? I didn't pause to wonder. I was unconscious before I had a chance to tell them about the girl and—how long was I out? Would she still be okay? Oh, jeez, this was not good . . .
Just as I was pulling on my shirt someone burst through my door. I looked up in time to see something red hurl something black at me. It clanged to the floor at my feet and I watched it stupidly, trying to make out what it could be. It looked like just a huge mass of twisted, charred bars . . . oh, no . . .
I looked up at the girl who threw it and felt relief rush though me. She was okay! A bit ruffled, but okay. She looked extremely mad about something, though, and she was hyperventilating uncontrollably.
"Hullo," I said cautiously, wincing at the scraping feeling in my raw throat. Clearing it, I tried again. "I see you've got your bike back. What happened to it, I wonder—"
"You!" she yelled suddenly. "You happened to it! My sisters are gonna kill me! Do you know how much it cost? Do you?"
"Er, no—"
"I didn't think so!" She stormed over to me, stepping over the bike, and jabbed a finger in my face. "Do you know what you put me though?" she hissed angrily. "I had to hitch a ride with some creepy truck driver to get here! I let you use my bike and how do you repay me? You obliterate it and leave me to die out at the bottom of a huge cliff!"
"Now wait a minute," I protested, "that's not fair. We both used the bike to get away from those Spearow—"
"Who were after you in the first place!"
"—and if Pikachu hadn't used Thunder to get rid of those things we might both be dead." She frowned and I seized the chance to continue. "And I didn't just leave you there, either. I was gonna ask for help as soon as I saw someone, but they knocked me out with something before I had the chance—"
I think I could actually see the anger flare up in her eyes at this simple sentence, though I hadn't the faintest idea why.
"You're a Trainer!" she yelled loudly, making my head ring. "Obviously not a very good one, but you are! Or did you forget that all Trainers are issued a phone for emergencies—just like the one that just happened?"
I blinked stupidly at her. "Oh, that's right—"
"Yeah, 'that's right,' " she scoffed. Now I was getting mad.
"Hey, now that's not fair! I've never had my own phone before; I'm not used to it—"
She snorted. "You're obviously unused to thinking, as well—"
"Now that's not fair!"
"Life's unfair, you idiot, so get used to it!"
"What is your problem?"
"You!" she screamed. "You are my problem! Now I don't have any other way of getting around—"
"Ever here of walking?" I countered. "It does exist, you know!"
"Ever here of apologies? They do exist, you know!"
"Hey, I am not gonna apologize for saving your life!"
"Wait a minute, did I hear you correctly? Did you say you're not going to apologize for saving my life?" Her voice was dangerously low, and even through my anger I didn't like it. It was now that I noticed just how much taller she was than me. "Excuse me, Mr. Hot-Shot, but I believe that I am the one credited with saving your life. If it hadn't been for me, you would be floating around in a river somewhere, dead, or touring the inside of a Gyarados!"
"Well if it hadn't been for me, you would—"
"Still be sitting peacefully beside the river, fishing!"
Is that what she had been doing? I shook it off, preparing a comeback, when the door burst open again and a few medical-looking people stumbled in.
"Ms. Waterflower!" a strict-looking, tall woman demanded. "What in Mew's name do you think you're doing? You were ordered to keep out of this room—" She faltered when her eyes fell over the ruined bike. "What is this doing inside my hospital? Misteara, I demand answers."
The girl—Misteara, I guess, was her name—didn't even flinch under the woman's stern glare.
"This is the boy that did that to my bike," she said coolly. "And I want him to pay me back." Her eyes fell back on me as she said that last sentence, but I ordered myself to return her glare, despite the protests of my multiple bruised body parts.
"And this couldn't have waited until after you were discharged?" a Vietnamese man with a stethoscope around his neck asked.
"No," Misteara said softly, "it couldn't."
"Why?" said the first woman skeptically. I was curious of that myself.
"Because HE OWES ME A NEW BIKE!"
My head felt as if I had gotten out that blender again. The woman's nostrils flared white at Misteara's shout and she ordered the girl from the room.
"Not until he—"
"I said now, Ms. Waterflower, or I'll report you both to the police for disturbing the peace of my hospital!"
Rather reluctantly, I thought, Misteara backed away from me and followed the woman and a few of the others out of my room, dragging her bike along behind her. The doctor with the stethoscope stayed and closed the door behind them with a frown.
"Friend of yours?" he asked wryly, and laughed when I stared at him. "I'm Dr. Khai, by the way. It looks like you'll be free to go as soon as I check you over for any long-term injuries. Then you'll be free to visit your . . . Pikachu, I presume?" I nodded. "Excellent. Sit down, Mr. Ketchum, and tell me what you remember about your little accident."
As I recounted my wild first day to the doctor, he checked me over, careful to write something down every time he noticed me wince at something he touched. When I got to the part about me entering Viridian, however, it all became one big blur and I was forced to stop.
"Well," he said after a lengthy pause. "That was quite an interesting tale, let me assure you. As for the hospital, well, I was there when you came in a couple days ago—"
"A couple what?"
I was staring at him in disbelief. I had been out for two days? How was that even possible?
Dr. Khai, however, didn't even glance up from his precious clipboard. "Yes, you came in late Tuesday evening with your unconscious Pikachu, and your condition wasn't much better. At first we thought you had been attacked by Team Rocket—"
"Team Rocket?" Who were they?
"Yes, a gang that likes to attack Trainers and steal their Pokémon." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, a certain redhead came in shortly after you did and she cleared us up on that matter. By that time, however, you were sleeping peacefully with a little help from Mr. Sedative. Didn't want to knock you out, but you wouldn't let go of your Pikachu and you kept going on about a bunch of mad Spearow and a lightening storm. Couldn't understand a word you were saying."
"Oh . . . " I felt a bit of a blush creep up my neck and ordered it back down. I had seen delusional people before and, well, they could be scary. I would have used a sedative myself.
"Well," said the doctor suddenly, "your injuries have healed up quite nicely. You'll probably be a little stiff for a few days, but that too will fade. You had a mild concussion from that cliff fall of yours, but nothing too serious."
"What about hypothermia?" I asked uneasily. "The girl—Misteara—said I had it. Does it have any long-term effects?"
"Why, yes, actually, it does." My heart sank. "However, it seems Ms. Waterflower managed to pull you out of the water before the hypothermia really set in. Lucky for you, too, or you might need a liver transplant or something equally expensive. I'd say you owe her."
"Yeah . . . " I didn't really want to talk about the girl to a doctor I hardly knew. Not only had I almost killed myself, but I put another human and Pikachu in danger as well. Maybe I shouldn't be here . . .
"Hey, don't look so glum," said Dr. Khai suddenly, clapping me on the shoulder. I inwardly winced, surprised at how much it still hurt. "You're still not in the best condition," he observed, "but I think you're well enough to discharge. Now, why don't you go check up on your Pikachu? The Pokémon Center is connected on the main floor; you'll find it easily enough."
I thanked him and grabbed my 'Gear out of a corner, frowning at the many slashes and rips covering the entire thing. It looked like it would hold, though, so I hefted it to one shoulder and made my way downstairs.
The place was packed. Sick and injured people were everywhere, along with doctors, nurses, and other staff. It looked like the set of ER. I had to share the elevator with a guy in a wheelchair and his nurse, a doctor that was busy cleaning his glasses, and a woman with her arm covered in a bloody bandage. Next to them, my weak little cast looked like a Band-Aid. None of them got off on the main floor, though, which was probably a good thing.
The elevator opened into the waiting room. It was crammed with people. I didn't see the exit and I really didn't want to get lost, so instead I made my way over to the line for the main desk. About half an hour later I was finally able to ask for directions to the Pokémon Center, though the lady looked irritated that I had wasted her time with mere directions.
"Through the hallway to the right," she said quickly. "Next!"
"Er, what hallway?" I couldn't see anything but sick people.
She frowned and pointed to a hall to the right of and behind her desk. "That way. Next!"
Forcing a thank-you smile, I shuffled through a group of kids with burns to the blissfully empty hallway and through some double doors that opened to reveal a large room. It was as empty as the waiting room was full. A few teenagers older than me were hanging out at the Vid-Phones and an old lady was sitting on a comfy-looking waiting room chair, knitting, but that was it. I let out a sigh of relief. I was expecting to have to wait in another line again.
I dragged my feet over to the counter and rang the bell, my stomach doing flips. Was Pikachu going to be all right? What if she wasn't? What if—what if something happened that wouldn't let her do something ever again? Like—like she cut her foot so badly she wouldn't be able to walk again? What if I had paralyzed her for life?
"Can I help you?"
I jerked my head up and came face-to-face with a young woman who couldn't have been over nineteen and a Chansey. The woman had red hair much like Pikachu's, only darker and pulled up into two loops instead of Pikachu's single ponytail. Her blue eyes were filled with concern.
"Um, yeah. I'm here to see about my Pikachu. Is she okay?"
"Are you Asheron Ketchum?" she inquired.
"Yes."
Suddenly her eyes were a lot angrier.
"Young man, do you have any idea how hurt you Pikachu was?"
I blinked. "Um, yeah—"
"How on earth could you let her Battle until she was in that condition? Do you have no conscience?"
Now I was confused. "Battle?"
"I'm ashamed of you," she huffed. "She'll be okay this time, but next time you may not be so lucky."
"Luck—huh? What?" I had no idea what she was talking about.
"I would like to see your License, Mr. Ketchum," she said sharply. "Forcing a Pokémon to Battle until they were half-dead from exhaustion . . . honestly . . . "
"Wait a minute," I said loudly, the pieces clicking together, "you think I made her Battle? No, no, no, no. See, we were attacked by a bunch of Spearow—"
She narrowed her eyes. Even the Chansey looked threatening. "A bunch of Spearow attacked you," she said flatly. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah. See, we were trying to get away, but they kept pecking us and stuff. Pikachu used Thunder and killed most of them, and that's how we got away."
She looked very, very doubtful. "Mr. Ketchum," she said slowly, "you do realize that your Pikachu is below Level Twenty, correct?" I nodded slowly. "And you are aware that Pikachu don't learn Thunder until Level Forty-One?"
"Well, yeah, but she knows it. She used it in Professor Oak's lab, too."
"You come from Pallet?" she asked, surprised. She was stern again just as suddenly. "That doesn't give you the excuse to Battle like that and then make up some wild tale about a bunch of Spearow—"
"I'm not making it up! Just look at me! They hurt me, too!" Why was she still glaring at me? The doctors didn't question me; why was she?
"You expect me to believe that you and your Pikachu were attacked by a flock of mad Spearow, and that your Pikachu—who is, let me remind you, under Level Twenty—used Thunder?"
"Um . . . yes. Yes I do."
She stared at me. After a moment she said simply, "Your License, please."
I hesitated. "What for?"
"I vouch for his story, Nurse Joy," said a female voice suddenly. I spun around to see Misteara walking up to us from the direction of the hospital dragging her bike along behind her.
"After all," she continued, "Mew knows the friggin' Attack was strong enough to disintegrate my bike!"
I sighed. Would it never end? "Look, I told you already; the bike thing was a mistake—"
"Your mistake."
I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself. This was getting downright annoying. I expected her to make some kind of rude remark as she leaned on the counter beside me, but she looked to Nurse Joy instead.
"Remember when I said my Starmie had to fight off a Gyarados? Well, that was because this idiot here fell into the freezing river—"
"Hey!"
"—and about got himself eaten alive. So, how's Starmie? Is it all right?"
"What are you doing here, anyway?" I growled, wishing desperately that she were somewhere—anywhere—else.
"You're not the only one with Battle-able Pokémon, you know," she said shortly, propping her bike up against the counter.
Nurse Joy looked slowly back and forth between us, but must have decided that Misteara's story was reliable, for some unknown reason, because she sent the Chansey back to get the girl's Pokéballs.
"Starmie's okay," she told Misteara, "but that Pikachu won't be ready to leave for another few hours, at least." She didn't look at me as she said this. I hadn't a clue why. I sighed heavily, though, taking it as a cue to leave. At least Pikachu was okay. I didn't know what I would do if she wasn't.
The Vid-Phones were open, the teenagers nowhere in sight and the old lady gone. I collapsed into an uncomfortable plastic chair facing one, dropping my pack onto the floor beside me, and sat there, fiddling absently with the gauze stuff on my cast. I wasn't quite ready to call Mom yet; I had a few things to sort out first.
Only my fourth day as a Trainer and already I had screwed up to the point that some one's life had been in danger. Not a good way to begin a career, that was for sure.
But what else could I do? I had no special talents of any kind—except Pokémon Training. Professor Oak said that I was as good as his grandson once, and that was a compliment, much as I hate to admit it. It was just . . . I had endangered two creatures' lives, not to mention my own. And all those Spearow . . . they were dead because of me.
I stared wearily at my own fuzzy reflection on the blank Vid-Phone screen. My hair was messed up and I had a cut on my cheek below my left eye and another slicing my eyebrow in two, not to mention the remains of a scabbed-over scratch on my jaw. I looked horrible, and I needed a bath—desperately. I probably shouldn't call Mom in this condition anyway. She would flip. And just what was I planning to say to her, anyway? "Mom, I'm giving up and coming home"? Yeah, that would make her really proud.
"Debating which bike shop to call?"
I stifled a groan when I heard her condescending voice just behind me. She didn't wait for an invitation before taking the seat beside mine. I tried ignoring her for a few minutes, but she didn't go away, and it was making me uncomfortable. Her eyes traveled from the blank screen, to me, and back to the blank screen again. She looked . . . concerned? No, probably confused as to why I hadn't ordered her a new bike yet. Oh, for Celebi's sake, why didn't she just skip down to Wal-Mart and buy a new one?
"The phonebook's not open," she said bluntly. I sighed. She wouldn't go away if I didn't respond, though, I could tell by the icy tone in her voice.
"No," I confirmed.
"You're not calling the bike shop?"
"No." Now she looked a little annoyed.
"Why not?" she demanded. I sighed again.
"Look, Misteara—"
"Misty."
"Whatever. The point is, I'm not calling the stupid bike place—ever."
"Excuse me?"
I sighed again. Why wouldn't she just go away?
"Don't you have something better to do?" I asked, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.
"No," she said sweetly, "I can't go anywhere. You see, this really annoying kid practically disintegrated my bike."
I groaned. "Can't you go annoy someone else for once?"
"No; you're ideal. So when are you gonna pay me back?"
I blinked at her. "You don't honestly expect me to—"
"Oh, yes I do," she interrupted. "That bike was custom-made by my parents a long time ago; it was worth a lot. I say was, of course, because you've all but completely obliterated it—"
"Oh, GIVE IT UP!" I cried, exasperated, crossing my arms and sliding down in my uncomfortable plastic seat. She was glaring at me.
"No," she said icily, "I will not give it up. You are paying me back for that bike, Mr. Irresponsibility—"
"I don't have any money!" I interrupted, glaring at her. "I have no job, a very minimal allowance, and no—"
"You're a Trainer, aren't you?" she cut in angrily. "Trainers earn money when they Battle! Or is this simple concept completely above you?"
"What makes you think I'm even going to Battle anymore?" I asked honestly, surprising even myself. Since when had I made that decision?
"What do you mean, you're not Battling anymore?" Misty asked. She was watching me in confusion, but I could detect a lingering spark of anger in her aquamarine eyes. I proceeded with caution, partly because I didn't want her to explode again and partly because I was still sorting through this myself.
"Look," I began softly, "Monday was my first day as a Trainer, and I—"
"And you what?" demanded Misty harshly. "You're going to quit Training because of one bad experience?"
"That 'one bad experience' put both yours and Pikachu's life in danger!" I shot back. "How many worse 'bad experiences' do you want me to go through?"
"Well excuse me," she said sarcastically. "I didn't expect to see a talented Trainer quit on their fourth day just because they fell into a river!"
"And what makes you think I'm talented enough to do this?"
"Oh, please," she snorted. "You Trainers are all alike. Egotistical morons who use Pokémon to gain fame."
I glared menacingly at her typical stereotypic comment, but before I could respond the lights blinked out.
There was a scream from somewhere behind me, but that told me virtually nothing since I was both nearing and facing the door and the entire Pokémon Center was at my back. The large room was in complete darkness, and I dimly realized that that wasn't right. I remembered seeing windows on the walls and door—and where was the emergency lighting?
"What happened?" Misty's voice said suddenly from the seat beside me. I could dimly see the reflection of her eyes as my own adjusted. "Is there a power outage or something?"
I shrugged, then realized she couldn't see me. "I dunno," I said aloud. "Did they blow a circuit?"
"Everybody stay calm!" said Nurse Joy's voice from where I assumed was the counter. "The emergency power should kick in any minute now! Don't move or you may trip!"
Misty and I waited in tense silence for a few minutes as I tried to remember if anyone else had entered the Center while we had been arguing. As far as I knew, we were the only ones here. Everyone else was in the jammed hospital lobby.
"Nothing's happening," I said after a while, partly to break the poignant silence that had settled over us and partly just to hear myself speak. Misty snorted.
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."
I glared at where her voice had come from, but could see nothing but the dim reflection of her eyeballs. Fuzzy forms were beginning to dance before my eyes in the utter darkness. Where was the sunlight?
Just then we were coated in a dim red light: emergency power. I only had time to blink stupidly at Misty before the real power flicked back on, flooding the Center—and my poor, wide-open pupils—with light. As soon as my head stopped swimming at the glare I looked around me and saw that I had been right; besides Joy and Chansey, who were both looking around the room in confusion, we were the only ones here. How lucky.
I turned to Misty, but she only shrugged. "Maybe they did just blow a circuit?" she suggested.
And then the door exploded. And I'm not exaggerating.
Misty and I both ducked instinctively as enormous splinters of wood and bits of metal and glass zinged by, most missing us by mere inches but a few catching the arms we had thrown up to protect our heads, though not hard enough to cause more than a minor scratch or two. When most of it had fallen we cautiously looked up again, only to see a cloud of thick, acrid greenish-grey smoke burst into the room.
It engulfed us immediately. I ducked down low again, but only because I was coughing so hard I couldn't stand. The smoke seemed to magically expand in my lungs and it scratched roughly at my already-raw throat, making it very difficult just to draw breath. The fact that it smelled like a horrible mixture of rotten eggs and spoiled meat definitely didn't help matters any.
"What the (cough cough) hell?" I managed to gasp before succumbing to another fit of rough coughing. I heard rather than saw Misty right beside me, doing the same thing.
"Smokescreen!" she sputtered. I was confused. Smokescreen? But wasn't that a Pokémon Attack—?
"Prepare for trouble!"
"And make it double!"
Someone was standing in the door, though the thick smoke coupled with the stinging tears in my eyes only allowed me to see their dark, blurred silhouettes. What in the world—?
"To protect the world from devastation!"
"To unite all peoples within our nation!"
"To denounce the evils of truth and love!"
"To extend our reach to the stars above!"
Their forms were becoming more and more solid in the smoke, and I could vaguely make out three large forms and one smaller one approaching. Who were these people?
"Jessy!" the first one, the female, announced.
"James!" the second guy said. He had a distinct British accent. Both of their voices were strangely muffled, though, and I felt my anger rise when I realized why. Gas masks. Here we were, kneeling on the floor, reduced to tears by the smoke, and they were standing on the threshold of clean air in flipping gas masks. Of all the stupid, ridiculous—
"Team Rocket blasts off at the speed of light!" announced Jessy suddenly. My eyes widened—well, tried to—when I realized who it was.
"Surrender now or prepare to fight!"
"Meowth, that's right!" a new voice added. I sighed in relief as enough of the smoke wafted out the door for me to catch my breath again. But then, suddenly, a new wave appeared from the ceiling.
"Koffing, cut the smoke!" the male—James?—ordered. The putrid cloud stopped forming immediately.
"All right, nobody move!" the woman yelled—Jessy, I figured. Then a thought struck me: Why were Team Rocket announcing their names? Maybe these people really weren't Team Rocket. Maybe they were just pretending to be to intimidate us. Maybe—
"I want everyone hear to stand with their arms above their head—slowly! No sudden moves or we'll be forced to tie you up!"
God must hate me, I thought grimly, forcing myself to my feet. I could set the bad luck record, I swear. I mean, who ever heard of being mugged of their first and only Pokémon a mere four days after a near-death experience? Honestly . . .
"You, boy," Jessy barked, indicating me. "I said hands above the head! Now!" I tried raising my cast arm up and got a sharp stab of pain in my shoulder as a reward. Jessy eyed the cast dubiously, noting my flinch, and said, "Fine, leave that arm down, but I don't want to see you or your girlfriend move from that spot!"
"She's/He's not my—"
"Silence!" Jessy snapped. She looked around the room, which was coated in a light haze of smoke now; it was clear enough to see across the room, at least. Jessy was frowning, though. "This is it?" she huffed, hands on hips. "Just two measly kids and the nurse?"
"Um, Jessy," said her partner cautiously, "Perhaps all of the other people are next door? Their Pokémon should still be in the back; I saw a sign that said no Pokémon were allowed in the hospital."
"Meowth, go get them," Jessy commanded, turning to the cat. "Arbok, you Wrap up that nurse before she alerts security. With any luck we should be out of here in ten minutes."
The smaller Pokémon immediately bounded off behind the counter and through the single door behind it while the Arbok simply disappeared. I blinked in confusion. Where did it—?
A shrill scream suddenly split the air, only to be just as quickly silenced. Misty and I spun around to see Nurse Joy bound tightly in the coils of a huge purplish cobra. The Arbok flicked its forked tongue menacingly at her and grinned.
Team Rocket were now almost completely visible through the smoke. They must have thought the air was clean enough to remove their gas masks because that's what they were busy doing, revealing two young people not yet twenty. They were Team Rocket?
I watched the entire scene in confusion. I had never been robbed before—was everyone this calm? I didn't feel frightened at all, just—surprised.
Then I remembered that Pikachu was back where the Meowth had gone, still recovering. Was the Meowth only grabbing the Pokéballs? What if she was in her Pokéball? Did the Meowth grab her too?
Now I began to feel the first inkling of fear.
But what could I do about it? I looked around me, trying to find any type of alarm or security device; the only one in sight was on the wall beside the door to the hospital, above the counter. Wait, what if they decided to rob all the people in the lobby as well? Oh shoot . . . now I had to do something.
There was a sudden shout from the door; Jessy was yelling at James for not recalling his Koffing. I glanced up and saw the Pokémon hovering near the ceiling, omitting the occasional puff of putrid greenish smoke. I rearranged my feet subconsciously and accidentally kicked something—my pack. But that was useless, there was nothing in there that I . . . could . . .
Can people really get those little light bulbs above their heads?
"Misty," I said quietly, turning to her, "what Pokémon do you have on you?"
She looked surprised at my question. "None; they're all in the back with Nurse Joy. Oh God, what if Team Rocket takes them—?"
I shushed her. "We're not gonna let that happen."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "How? Do you have plan?"
"Yeah."
"What is it?" Her eyes flicked over to Team Rocket, but they weren't paying any attention to us at the moment. They were still busy arguing about something. I turned back to Misty.
"I'm gonna get the Pokéballs form the Meowth," I said.
"But what about the Arbok and them?" She nodded her head in Team Rocket's direction.
"You distract them."
"The decoy? No! You be the decoy and I'll get the Pokéballs back—"
"No!" I hissed, shooting another look at Team Rocket. "Listen, I've got a plan—"
"So?"
"So just distract them!"
She crossed her arms and humphed angrily. "Fine," she finally relented. "How?"
"In the left side pocket of my pack I've got some apples. Throw them or something; just make it so that they don't bombard me with Pokémon as soon as I go."
"Go do what, exactly?"
"Silence!" Jessy barked suddenly, and me and Misty snapped our heads up to see her standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at us. The Koffing was nowhere in sight.
"Don't forget the Arbok," I said from the corner of my mouth. Misty nodded, but wisely kept her eyes on Team Rocket.
The door behind the counter swung open then, and the Meowth swaggered out, a bulging burlap bag slung carelessly over one shoulder. I almost gasped in astonishment. With the majority of the smoke gone I could now see that it was walking on two legs, using its forepaws like hands. I stared. I had never seen a Meowth do anything like that before.
Then I caught sight of Nurse Joy, still Wrapped up tightly in the Arbok's unrelenting coils. She looked terrified. Mew knows I would be. I needed to get her out of there and fast; there was no telling what the Arbok might do when I made my move.
"Finally!" Jessy exclaimed. "Now get your tail over here so we can leave! Someone could walk in from the hospital at any second!"
The Meowth chose to walk across the center of the room, which would, coincidentally, bring it right by me. I managed to catch Misty's eyes while Jessy was distracted, and she nodded. Now if only it would come a little bit closer . . .
"NOW!"
Misty immediately ducked to dig in my 'Gear while I used my left hand to propel myself over the back of the chair, which was, thankfully, bolted to the linoleum floor. The very slick linoleum floor.
On its hind legs the Meowth was a few feet tall. It was walking on only its two hind feet, leaving the front ones open to unsheathe its very long, very sharp feline claws, which it did hurriedly when it saw my sliding over. And that's when I hit it.
I skidded hard into the cat, sending us both tumbling to the floor, the Meowth yelling and scratching and me just trying to pin it down. It caught its front claws in the folds of my rumpled shirt suddenly and proceeded to try and disembowel me with its hind feet. Luckily, though, it again caught mostly shirt—mostly. I yelped and fell back, landing hard on my bad arm. Pain instantly shot up and down my entire right side before it went strangely numb. With the pain gone, though, I could concentrate on kicking out at the Meowth as it tried to Scratch me, but only to wince again as my feet caught nothing but air and the Meowth landed squarely on my head. It scratched my face once before leaping away, apparently satisfied. It was smiling, anyway, as it stood again on its hind feet. I touched my burning cheek and, feeling a familiar wetness, pulled my hand away to see my fingers coated in blood. Spiffing.
"Serves ya right," the Meowth said suddenly. I snapped my head up and stared at it—a he, it sounded like—in open astonishment. Did that thing just—?
"Yeah, dat's right, kid," he continued, examining a claw like it was his fingernail. "I kin talk. An' I kin Scratch pretty good, too, in case ya haven't noticed."
"Asheron, behind you!
I looked up to see an un-Wrapped Nurse Joy pointing frantically at something large slithering across the floor—
"Here, Ash, take this!" I clumsily caught the apple Misty threw me and ducked as another went skimming by my head, catching the Meowth squarely on the nose and knocking him over.
I rolled out of the way just as the Arbok snapped at the empty space where I had been. I rolled to my knees and, amazingly enough, beaned the Arbok on the back of the head with my apple as its momentum carried it right past me. Then I stood up, stomped as hard as I could on its rapidly slithering tail, and dove for the Pokéballs.
"Here, take this!" I said quickly, dragging them over to Misty. The bag was heavier than I thought. "Use the Pokémon in them to Battle!" I was suddenly beaned by an apple on the back of my neck: Team Rocket were using the ones Misty had thrown at them earlier.
"Ha HA!" James yelled, grinning like an idiot. "Apples fly both ways, don't they, twerp?" He seemed to be enjoying himself—until I picked it up and lobbed it back. It hit him in the collar bone and he yelped.
"Ah! That hurt! Why you little—"
Our personal war was interrupted by the flash of an opening Pokéball. Everyone turned to see something relatively small materialize on the floor. Jessy and James laughed; I sweatdropped.
"Goldeen, goldeen goldeen."
"You're going to stop us with that?" Jessy laughed.
"Goldeen, return!" Misty ordered, enlarging another Pokéball. "Come out, whoever you are!"
There was another flash and a Dunsparce appeared. It waved its tiny wings weakly and yawned before Misty recalled it. Jessy, James, and their Meowth were laughing uncontrollably while the Arbok slithered quietly behind them and reared to watch the scene from over Jessy's shoulders, it forked tongue flicking out periodically.
"Come on, Misty!" I cried. "Release something we can use!"
"I'm trying!" she shot back, exasperated. "Go, Pokéball!"
A Yanma. A flipping Yanma. Team Rocket were now overcome with laughter, but the Arbok merely watched us with a steady, unwavering glare. It looked ready to Attack.
I stalked over to Misty and grabbed a couple of random Pokéballs, hoping that I would have a bit more luck. Misty recalled the Yanma. Jessy looked like she was trying to say something, but couldn't manage through her laughter.
"Arbok, stay back!" she giggled. "I think Rattata will be enough for them!" She called out her Pokémon, and so did James. His Koffing reappeared again. Perfect.
"Pokéballs, go!" I yelled, then watched in anticipation as the Pokémon materialized. Maybe someone had brought in a Tyranitar—or even a Dragonite! Imagine me, commanding a Dragonite! Then my heart fell. A Zubat and a Sentret. For Mew's sake! Why were all these Pokémon so weak?
Team Rocket were overcome with another fit of laughter. "Koffing, Smokescreen!" James gasped, snapping his mask back on. I looked at the Pokémon I had. Oh well, they would have to do . . .
"Sentret, duck!" I ordered quickly. The smoke would naturally float up, but I didn't have much time before it filled the entire room once more. Zubat didn't have any eyes, though. Maybe . . .
"All right, Zubat, Supersonic at the Koffing! Sentret, Quick Attack that Rattata!" I watched as my orders were obeyed and had to give the Pokémon credit; they were pretty good. The Koffing immediately stopped spewing smoke to grimace as the high-pitched, painful sound intruded upon its sensitive ears and the Arbok was knocked back onto its Trainer, who had now stopped laughing.
"Rattata, Tackle that Sentret!
"Koffing, Poison Gas!"
I couldn't help the Sentret, so I ordered the Zubat to dive beneath the gas and Tackle the Koffing from underneath, where there were no pores. The Koffing slammed into the roof, then toppled to the floor, landing squarely on the Rattata with a small puff of smoke. I blinked. Was it over already?
"Come on, Rattata, get up!" said Jessy angrily.
"Let's go, Koffing!" James demanded. "To your feet—er, whatever! Now, Smokescreen!"
I smiled in relief when neither Pokémon responded. I had to recall the Sentret after its bout with the Rattata. It looked like it would be all right, though. It must have still been weak after whatever had gotten it to the Center in the first place.
Team Rocket recalled their Pokémon reluctantly. "All right, twerp," Jessy snarled, "let's see how well you do against Arbok! Poison Sting, now!"
"Zubat, try and dodge!" Zubat tried, it really did, but the poor little bat just wasn't fast enough. I winced as a multitude of tiny poison barbs struck the Pokémon and it fell. I quickly recalled it, silently apologizing to its Trainer. I turned to grab another Pokéball, hoping for a more powerful Type, but the sack was gone. Huh?
I looked at Misty in confusion, but she looked just as surprised as I was, her eyes fixed by the empty spot where the bag had just been. Jessy and James started laughing again, and I looked up to see Jessy holding the bag above her head triumphantly, their Meowth cleaning himself happily at her feet.
"Ha ha, twerp! Thought you were smart, didn't you? Meowth, get out there and help Arbok teach those brats a lesson!"
"With pleasure!"
Great, now what? The Meowth and Arbok were getting themselves into Attack position. I looked around for something to use, but the only movable thing in reach was Pikachu, my pack, her bike, and a little tiny pen connected to the Vid-phone with a chain. Well, and Joy, too, but what could she do? Then my eyes caught a flash of yellow perched on the counter.
"Pika?"
"
PART 2 :: Viridian
By Seabeast
WARNING:
Fic is extremely long, but good. May find yourself hooked, despite numerous attempts to quit reading. No patch or gum yet available.DISCLAIMER:
NOT MINE. Must you ask?AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Hee hee! Next part! If you want an idea of what this part contains, watch the second episode—I think. I dunno, I haven't seen it in forever. Although I do know that it will trail off considerably in the end. DID YOU HEAR ME? CONSIDERABLY! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Dances With Bananas thinks I'm nuts. Who's Dances With Bananas, you say? Why, the Huggable Shnuggable Ern, of course! There's a story behind this. See, every time Waltz for the Moon plays, she just happens to be eating a banana, which she then dances with. Quite simple, actually. She actually refuses to watch "Dances With Wolves," did you know that? Just because it has Kevin Costner in it! I think. I dunno. She may have her reasons. Um, that is Kevin Costner, right . . . ?Love Always,
Misty
:: 2GGP2 ::
:: Ash ::