Arden reclined beneath a tree, beside a lush field of tall grass and bushes, rolling a pokeball between his hands. A stylized rendering of a water drop adorned the front of it. It was his first pokemon. A squirtle. He hadn't had it for a quarter of an hour, yet, and already he was feeling pessimistic about it.

He'd wanted a charmander. Squirtle was all the professor had left.

Arden sighed and put the pokeball in his coat pocket. Idly, he watched the clouds drift past overhead, and tried to come up with a nickname for his new companion. "Shelly?" he ventured, and then shook his head. "No, that's ridiculous. He won't want to be called Shelly and I'll feel stupid calling him Shelly… Reginald? …erm. No, no. That's… No…"

He frowned and, for a moment, considered letting the pokemon out of his ball so it could help him find a name. His thought, however, was broken off prematurely by a rustling sound from nearby. A rattata lurched out from a briar patch, startling the boy. It bared its teeth at him and hissed. Quickly, Arden reached into his pocket, and threw his squirtle's ball toward it.

"Shelly, go!" he screamed. Yup. Definitely felt silly. Mentally, he crossed the name off his list of possible nicknames for his pokemon.

The ball flew toward the rattata, striking it firmly in the head before releasing the squirtle. The rattata staggered sideways and Arden winced, feeling a little ashamed of himself. "Sorry," he said to it. "I… I didn't know that would happen… Uh, Squirtle—tackle!"

The squirtle threw itself toward the rattata, only to stumble and fall flat on its face with a half-hearted cry of "squirt!" Arden winced again. The rattata looked up from the squirtle to him, puzzlement startlingly evident on its face. It turned away and, at a leisurely pace, started into the forest.

"Hey, come back!" Arden yelled, standing. "We're going to battle you! Just wait a sec!"

The rattata squeezed under a bush and was gone. Arden stood, staring after it, feeling uniquely offended. His squirtle had managed to get back on its feet and—unaware of what had transpired whilst it had its face in the dirt—looked around for its foe. "Its gone," Arden told the squirtle.

"Squirt," said the pokemon. Arden didn't know what that meant, but the squirtle looked pleased with itself.

"Great," mumbled Arden to himself, running a hand through his dark blond hair. "I didn't just get the clumsiest pokemon in Kanto, I also got the most arrogant."

The squirtle heard him and puffed out its chest in umbrage. It jabbered at him, swinging its stubby arms about.

"You are clumsy," Arden said pointedly. "You fell down and no one pushed you. That was all you."

"Squirtle! Squirt!" yelled the pokemon. It gestured to its left leg which, Arden now saw, had a slight deformation.

"Oh," said Arden, flushing. "You're a gimp." The squirtle nodded. "So, you landed on that leg when I let you out, and that made you lose your balance." It nodded again. "…how are you supposed to fight?"

The squirtle jabbered on again, and Arden waved it silent. "Look, I can't understand you," he said grimly. "Just… Do you think you can fight with that leg, Gimpy?"

The squirtle nodded.

"Then, I guess I'll trust you," sighed Arden. "And if you can't… We'll start a bed and breakfast, or something, and you can run the check-in counter, and I will be the chef. We'll serve blueberry waffles—they'll be our specialty. We'll set up just north of a tiny town, and people will talk about our blueberry waffles in town, and they'll come up and have breakfast there every Sunday, as a special treat…"

The squirtle titled his head to one side.

Arden cleared his throat. "Sorry," he said. "Habit. …I need a name for you."

"Squirtle."

"Nah, I mean, and actual name-name," responded Arden, putting his hand to his chin. "…you don't want to be called Reginald, do you?" The squirtle shook his head. "I thought not. Peter? …no? Okay… Hm…" He paused. "Maybe something that describes you? Blue? Bluey? Old Bluebell?"

The squirtle, Arden noted, was looking progressively more distressed about the naming.

"Oh! Oh, I know!" shouted Arden, snapping his fingers. "Gimpy!"

The squirtle sighed. It was as good as he would get, he supposed.

"Come on, Gimpy," said Arden, starting along. "Let's see if we can't find that rattata. He gave us the shaft, and I don't like that."

Gimpy limped after him, murmuring his protest. Arden glanced back and stopped. "Oh, right," he said, chagrined. "The leg. Right."

He stooped to pick up the squirtle. "There we are," Arden said. "That way, I don't have to put you back in your pokeball, and chance that you'll fall down again when I send you out."

It was a good solution, Gimpy supposed.

They continued on through the field. Arden trudged his way through the tall grass, startling a pidgey which promptly flew at him, beating its wings in his face. It flew off leaving Arden feeling mildly abused, and monumentally more pessimistic. "Why didn't you fight it?" Arden asked Gimpy. "I thought that's why I was given a pokemon before I left town—so wild ones wouldn't beat me up." Gimpy shrugged.

Arden sighed. "This is going to be a long walk," he said.