-VVV-
The instant that Melmord Fjordslorn stepped into Mordhhaus Gym, Charles knew two things: 1) he was a pokemon trainer, and, 2) he disliked him. Immensely.
Perhaps it was Melmord's perpetually rumpled and laid back, 'I'm-so-cool-and-I-just-don't-care' appearance (in distinct contrast to his own crisp-yet-functional attire) that he didn't care for. It could have been the smarmy aura that clung to the man like overpowering - and cheap - cologne. It might also have been the manner in which Melmord eyed everything inside of Mordhaus Gym like it would someday be his.
While those were all very good and logical reasons to dislike Melmord, the real reason that Charles had an instant dislike for the man was quite simple: he absolutely did not trust the greedy, hungry look that crossed Melmord's expression the minute he laid eyes on his Nathantyphlosian.
Melmord immediately tried to capture the Nathantyphlosion's photo and information with his PokeDex - a task none had ever managed under Charles' watch. Before Charles could even give a crisp snap of his fingers, a long and angry howl of 'NOOOOOOathantyphlosian! ' erupted from the hulking pokemon, momentarily drowning out all other noise. A second later the agitated Nathantyphlosion moved behind Charles with a surly grumbling sort of growl, and, past the occasional chuff of irritation, hovered quietly.
Charles narrowed his eyes briefly, his gaze instantly much cooler, much sharper, and decidedly less friendly. He snapped his fingers. Immediately, a nearby member of Team Klokateer rushed over and knocked the Melmord's PokeDex out of his hands and to the floor. Ignoring Melmord's sputters of protest, the Klockateer proceeded to stomp on the PokeDex until it was little more than a jumble of wires on the floor in a thoroughly smashed, red casing.
"You must never take pictures of his Lordship's Nathantyphlosian!" the Klokateer yelled, rounding on Melmord with a raised fist. If left to his own devices, the Klokateer would gladly have stomped on Melmord's face until he too was throroughly smashed on the floor. Charles - unfortunately - had to stop him.
"That's enough #474!" he snapped. #474 immediately stepped back and went to stand with the rest of Team Klockateer, or at least those who had gathered along the outer edges of the room to ensure that there were no more transgressions against their masters. Charles ignored Melmord for a minute, turning instead to smooth a hand over his Nathantyphlosian's cascading mane in a placating manner.
Though the Nathantyphlosian towered over Charles, it pushed its nose gently against its trainer's shoulder and rumbled out a petulant, albeit slightly calmer, "Nathaaaan..." Thus satisfied that the huge pokemon wasn't going to throw a temper tantrum anytime soon (He was silently thankful for that - last time the Nathantyphlosian had worked itself into a screaming tantrum, several of the Klokateers and one of Charles' good lamps had been completely incinerated.) Charles finally addressed Melmord.
"I believe it was stressed to you, that on entering the gym taking photos or information captures of any of The Dethkok Five is expressly forbidden." He sniffed and adjusted his glasses. "Unauthorized photos of the pokemon fall into the category of illegal merchandise, and that is a punishable offense." Charles snapped his fingers and one of the Klockateers rushed up and gave him a soft, stuffed, bird-shaped object. It was all black and had what appeared to be a mustache sewn onto its beak. It also bore a scowling, generally pissed off expression. Charles handed it to Melmord, who accepted it with an annoying simper. "Our gift shop sells its own line of Dethklok merchandise. Unfortunately, the only plushy dolls we have left in stock right now are the Murkrowderface dolls." Charles offered the other man a thin smile. "Consider that one a, ah, a gift on the house."
Melmord turned the doll over in his hands, stared at it for a moment, and then casually tossed it to one side. Charles narrowed his eyes. "I think," said Melmord, "that I would prefer the real thing." He pointed a finger at Charles as he rather dramatically announced: "Charles Offdensen, I challenge you to a pokemon battle! "
Charles arched an eyebrow at the other man's melodramatic announcement, and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I suppose you're looking to earn a gym badge?" he asked, his voice brushed with quiet disdain. To that, Melmord just grinned smugly.
"Nope, I don't want a gym badge," he sneered. "I'm not an 11 year old kid."
"Then what?" asked Charles, his voice devoid of warmth. Again, Melmord glanced at the Nathantyphlosian hovering behind Charles.
"Your team," said Melmord simply, returning his gaze to Charles'. "I know I can manage The Dethklok Five better than you ever have." He smiled another oily smile.
Charles smoothed his fingers over his tie. "Well that's a problem," he stated, "because the only way I'll be separated from the Dethklok Five is if I'm dead."
Melmord shrugged. "That can be arranged."
"So be it," said Charles. He brushed past Melmord and gestured for the Klokateers to go ahead of them and set up the battle arena on the rooftop. The Nathantyphlosian followed behind him, gnarling out a rumbly, 'Nathaaaantyphlosian.' Charles glanced at the huge pokemon and offered a wan smile. "For the record," he muttered, "I tried."
"Let's get this over with," Charles said, as he faced off against Melmord. "There's a ton of paperwork that's piling up because of this."
Between them, the battlefield stretched. The floor was black, made up of onyx and scattered with volcanic ash, lending the air a sulfuric smell. Here and there metal spires twisted up from the ground and stabbed up towards the sky, as if reaching for the clouds floating above. The battlefield itself was raised up and it sloped off on each side into fiery trenches that blazed 24/7. (The turnover rate for the Team Klokateer members who kept the fires stoked was very high, considering the ferocity of the pokebattles that occurred on the field. The last one who had died, #76, had caught a stray lightening bolt to the chest when Picklachu had drunkenly mistaken him for an enemy pokemon, even though the battle had been over for hours.)
"Let's do this," sneered Melmord, drawing five pokeballs from his belt. He threw them out one by one, calling out the pokemon's names as he did so. "Go Regirockso!" he yelled as he tossed out the first ball.
There was a flash and the pokemon appeared. Charles wrinkled his nose. The pokemon was bright green, had a body made of some unidentifiable type of rock, a mane of wild blue hair, and a bright red, spiky round nose. The pokemon snuffled around for a moment as if looking for something on the ground, then roared, 'Regirockk-ka-ka-so!'
"Go Setheasel! Go Lavonatone!" shouted Melmord, tossing out two more pokeballs at the same time.
The Setheasel looked, well, much like a giant weasel, with beady little eyes, a gotee, and slicked back fur. It thumped its weasily tail and looked around furtively as it cleaned its whiskers. The Lavonatone was made of rock and was very pale with big, crazy-looking eyes. It immediately took note of the Nathantyphlosian and batted its lashes and tossed its black mane. 'Lavonaaatone!,' it called.
To Charles' relief, the Nathantyphlosian only answered with a surly growl, and looked around the field with disinterest. Melmord threw out his last two pokeballs. "Go for it, Jomfrumbreon and Cornicklitung!"
The last two pokemon burst from their pokeballs. The first was fat and squat with a lower body made of metal, and it issued a nasally, 'Jomfrumbreeeon!' from its small mouth. The last pokemon sort of had the same weaselly look as the Setheasel, but it had a long, sticky looking tongue that it lashed out towards the Nathantyphlosian with a condescending cry of, 'Corniiicklitung!.'
"Whaddaya think?" asked Melmord, with a insufferably superior expression that Charles chose to ignore. "Not half bad, eh?" The other trainer folded his arms across his chest. "It took me a long time to assemble the pokemon worthy enough to fight your team, but I won't be satisfied until The Dethklok Five are mine."
"Well," said Charles in a perfectly neutral tone, "let's see how they stack up." He began throwing out the four pokeballs strapped to his belt, one by one. He didn't call them by name; he didn't need to.
The first pokemon materialized on the field next to the Nathantyphlosian in a blinding display of metal. It was tall and lean and looked like a lethal sort of bird encased in a gleaming metallic armor. It gave the enemy pokemon a contemptuous glare from ice-blue eyes and flipped back its beautiful golden mane, before drawling out a bored, 'Skwisgaarmory.' It then proceeded to turn away and absently flex its metal feathers in blurring display of agility.
The next pokemon burst forth with a cheerful cry of, 'Toki-piiiiiiii!' It ran around in happy little circles, it long brown hair streaming behind it as it pumped its little legs merrily. At one point it bumped into the Skwisgaarmory and fell down onto its shelled rear and a little pout. The other pokemon eyed it with feigned disdain for a minute, before helping it up with an affectionate, though mocking squawk. The Tokipi hugged the Skwissgarmory's leg and the metallic pokemon allowed it only briefly, before shoving the smaller one off with a snap of its beak.
The third pokemon appeared stumbling onto the field with a little hiccup and a slurred offer of, 'Pick-hic-lachuuu.'. It swept the red dreadlocks from its eyes and blinked blearily at the other pokemon, before looking towards its own teammates with a question of: 'Pickla, picklachu?
The Tokipi chirruped out an affirmative, 'Tokipi!' The Picklachu just frowned and took a swig from the bottle of hard liquor in its hand.
The final pokemon materialized in a flurry of black feathers and a pissed off, angry scream of: Murkrowderfasche! It scowled and frowned and kicked dirt at both rival pokemon and its own team members, before settling down next to the Picklachu with a spiteful expression. It folded its wings in front of its chest, further signalling its displeasure.
Charles eyed his team critically, and made a note to put the Murkrowderface on a diet - it was getting awfully fat. "Well, shall we?" he asked, without really asking at all. Then he shouted, "Boys, use the Thunderhorse formation!"