a/n: Shameless, shameless wing!fic and headcannons all tossed onto one page. Warning, this is a story made of short drabbles, and has been unbeta'd. It's just for pure enjoyment.
"…Erm, what is his name again? That's right! I remember now! His name is-!"
His wings are made of feathers as blue as a Gyarados, with their own metallic sheen. It's a sign of how great he is, was, would always be. Gyarados wings are rare, and if someone managed to pin him down long enough…
Daisy sighed as she ran her foot along the cracks of the floor. As powerful as Grandpa was, it didn't matter much in the face of her own dilemma. His wings of one of the most powerful Pokémon that could only be taken in when carefully trained were useless when one's parents dumped you like unwanted trash. His powerful, gorgeous wings that spoke that he would be of high status couldn't help that he sometimes had the brain of a magikarp.
Her mind half-flinched at the thought of calling her beloved grandfather, the man that had taken her and her little brother in after their parents had drifted away, such a horrible name. But it was true.
Scrawled notes tucked into books and pasted on walls could help jog his brain, help keep the famed Prof. Oak on track, but it couldn't help with the names of his own Grandchildren. The teenage girl huffed crossly, glancing around for her little brother.
Prof. Oak, Grandfather, went gliding past. His blue feathers caught the air, keeping him a few feet above the ground despite there being no wind. It was the same for any Gyarados though, was it not? They were Water-Flying types.
Grandfather blasted through town- probably on his way to yet another meeting. Daisy would have to cook for both her and her little brother Green. The teen sighed again, before casting a half-fearful glance after her Grandfather. There would always be a reason why she would never let Green near her Grandfather, making it twice as hard for the Professor to remember his name-
Gyarados's were famed for their rage and anger. Time had cooled off Professor Oak's, according to the townspeople, but if it flared up again at Green's snarky comments? She couldn't support a five-year-old by herself.
No, it was better that the man with the blue Gyarados feathers and memory of a Magikarp remained far away from her little brother as long as possible.
Daisy misses the soft glance Professor Oak tosses her and her brother as she gathers them into the cold dark house. She misses the way he calls his assistants, telling them that he won't make it for their meeting, he has a family to meet. For even a Gyarados, as temperamental and fierce as they are, once their loyalty is won, they would stop at nothing to protect those dearest to them.
"… … !"
Green knew from the moment that he stepped in Pallet Town that there was somebody special living around here. It was obvious from the way the other kids bunched in a tight group but weren't arranged into a too low-pecking order. Green was smart. He knew that humans had a pecking order.
If the other kids, the ones he had been introduced too, didn't have the lowest, then that meant there was someone around who Green hadn't met who was even lower. Green was right, of course, though it was something he never bragged about it later. Two days after moving in, he spotted a small child standing on the ground, head craning back to look at a window on the second floor. Green leaned against the windowsill-
Even from this distance it was clear to see why all of the adults had murmured and the other kids had considered themselves on at least equal footing. Even Green felt a surge of pity for the kid below.
The black-haired child below him had no wings.
The kid stared up at the window futilely for a few more moments, before at last turning slightly, as if aware of Green's eyes on him. Even in the dim, golden light spilling from Green's bedroom window and Daisy's kitchen as she attempted to make breakfast for the both of them, the eyes were a pure, deep, blood red. Well, that eye color was new.
The child silently stared up at him, and Green had stared back. When the child pointed at the window, tightly shut, Green gave it a second glance. There were vines growing up the side of the house, curling around the windowframe. But the kid couldn't possibly- Green gave a mental shrug, and glided over to the window on his own wings. The other had climbed up, determiniton written across his face to do something that others took no care or thought in doing. For him, a second story was a long way up- for Green, it was just a quick glide across open space.
It set, Green could recognize now, the tone for many and most of their encounters afterwards. In Pallet town, Green had never cared enough to notice. How Red had always worked twice as hard to keep up with the kids with wings. How even though he refused to say a single word to any of them, Red managed to be the best in everything he did, even if it was by the skin of his teeth-
But the image always, always, always stuck with Green- a five year old child without wings and nothing but determination and grit showing in his eyes as he laboriously pulled himself up the vines. He never talked about the fact that Red had no wings- not until the very end, cornered at the Champion's League and angry and hurting he had spit out an insult he had heard the other children and adults use- "How could I be beaten by a wingless?!"
Green had never really called Red any names beyond a snorted 'looser'. To see Red's eyes go wide, before abruptly going blank…
When Red disappeared a few months later, vanishing from the world, Green knows he's the one who caused it. That in this world filled with people with wings, all of which told Red he couldn't do it, Green was the last person, the last insult that broke the camel's back and sent Red away up onto the mountain. Up to the top of a mountain where nobody with ordinary wings could possibly climb before falling prey to the cold chill, their wings freezing over and sucking all the warmth out of them.
The worst part is, he isn't sure if being considered Wingless was an insult anymore. Red's winning of the Championship, his shattering of the records, his taking down Team Rocket- they had all combined to make Red a mythical figure, someone who doesn't really exist anymore, just a ghost who drifts the mountain looking for his next fight.
Legends can't be humans, and humans have to have wings.
Except Red doesn't, and Green knew Red. He was a 'chatty gossip', with twice as much fire and determination as anyone else, that had chased after Green like a slowly burning fire, leaving the scattered remains of a legacy in his wake that anyone would be hard pressed to repeat without a shrug of "Well, look at the state of their wings. They were destined for greatness."
Green doesn't know that Red remains on the mountain, yelling and screaming at the nonexistent Legendary Pokémon of Kanto region to give him wings so that way he can face Green without any second glances or doubting looks.
"Wait Red! Let's check out our Pokémon! Come on, I'll take you on!"
Green Oak, Red reflects duly as he rolls a ball of snow in his hands, is a bit of an enigma. He always had the plainest wings- a Pidgey's wings when they first met, though by the time they were ten and setting out on their own adventure, those wings had turned into a Pidgeot's. A pidgey- one of the most common Pokémon in the Kanto region. But…
A Pidgeot was one of the hardest Pokémon to pull out its full potential from. Pidgeot's were always highly prized for their durability and their ability to fly even when a tornado is blowing past. Maybe that's how Green managed to weather his stormy ride to Championship- how Green came out of it with his feathers barely ruffled.
Green didn't look amazing at first glance with his plain, ordinary wings. But he inspired others with plain, ordinary wings to attempt to be the best as well- if Green could be Champion, even if for only an hour, maybe less, maybe more, then surely they could too.
Red sighed soundlessly, dropping the snow into his pikachu's hands. Pikachu happily took it, already intent on making a tiny snowman. Charizard rumbled softly, from where he sunned in the wane light.
No, Green had managed to weather the Championship storm just fine, his Pidgeot's wings catching a side-wind and lofting him to a far more stable position of Viridian Gym Leader, the final and toughest Gym Leader of the entire region. Unlike Red, with his wingless crash to the ground, to the last struggle to Mount Silver. Green could float there, at the top of the region with his cocky smirk, and Pidgeot's wings.
An ordinary person who became extra-ordinary through his own hard work. A legend in hiw own right in a region without legends.
Red doesn't know that Green stands at the bottom of the mountain, staring up and bitterly cursing the fact that because of his wing type- because he has wings at all, he cannot ascend the mountain to even say hello to his friend.
"I believe in rock hard defense and determination!"
If Brock was to give any thought about his wings, it would be mostly to snort at the thought of them, before returning his attention to his Onix and Geodude. The rock colored wings had clearly stated his ambition to get off the ground since he was a babe- none. He sometimes mentioned he could still remember the despair in his parents eyes when he refused to go to flying lessons, and neglected his lessons when they signed him up anyways.
Misty frowned as she leaned against a wall, watching the earth colored feathers flex and soak in the light. The wings were narrow, too narrow for normal flight. Each feather had the rock-solid heaviness to them that probably would've made it hard, or almost impossible, to fly anyways. But the toughness and the narrowness worked when he was in his underground caverns, searching for rocks and fossils. The small caves didn't strip his wings bare of feathers.
The tiny chasms, normally too narrow for any human to float down were usually just wide enough for Brock's smaller wings to fit. Despite the fact that he would bump against the walls, he could float down just fine without loosing a single feather. Just like the Onix patterns of boulders across his back, Brock too was most comfortable, and moved the fastest underground.
Just like the rock Pokémon he loved, Brock could take more then one hit. He stood firm against the wear, and tear of life and kept both feet on the ground. It was thanks to him that Pewter City thrived, expanded, and most, if not all of Pewter City had wings just like Brock's. Narrow, small, but as tough and thick as the ground that they rooted themselves in.
And just like the rock and ground they were part of, Misty thought as she watched Brock laugh one of his very, very rare laughs, taking years off of his face- if you knew them well enough, you could find the most beautiful crystals inside.
"My policy is an all-out offensive with water-type Pokémon!"
Misty doesn't have feathered wings. Instead they are made of the webs between a Golduck's fingers, their claw-like bones propelling her through water like a shot. Her wings are a show of how she is as well. Brock props his chin on his fist, staring blankly out over Cerulean Gym. Trainers with different kinds of water wings could be seen splashing around the water.
Blue, see-through wings flexed as Misty laughed boldly, her jacket dangling from her fingers. She tossed her head back, wings shimmering in the light- in water they would be just about unseeable. It's what helped during the mermaid performances.
Brock leaned back, watching Misty as she dove into the water, her Staryu and Starmie spinning to keep pace. They gracefully swam beneath the sea, flying through the waves and currents.
Misty had never flown in the air currents before- her wings weren't built for it. They would tear and crack underneath the air pressure. But this same delicateness that was her weakness in the air was her strength in the water- there she could outswim just about anyone.
The girl shot past him, sending a splash of water in her wake. She moved like a wave- overwhelming everything all at once like a tsunami crashing into land. Every action was forceful and unfocused, wildly sweeping everything up in its path.
That was why Brock was here in the first place- he had been unexpectedly swept up by her while talking, and now his feathers itched and burned at the sight of so much water. It didn't help that Water was one of his weaknesses.
Misty passed by him, flowing, sweeping and changing with the water, ever restless and never still.
The Underground Path is a bit of an enigma. Nobody knows who built it, or why they would build it. When most of the population could soar through the air, and the other percentage could swim, the idea of needing an actual pathway- under the ground no less- was a bit odd. Until it was told that it was for heavy loading trucks making their way between the two busy port cities of Vermillion and Cerulean.
That didn't do much to ease Red's worry as he walked through dark underground tunnels, wondering what was going on above ground where Team Rocket members lurked.
"I tell you kid, electric Pokémon saved me during the war!"
Lt. Matis Surge stood out from the crowd. It wasn't just his incredible height, which scraped near seven feet tall- it was his wings. To lift such a huge man, the wings were even bigger.
Koga's eyes flickered silently to the laughing American across from him, chatting with his daughter. Each dark orange feather was patterned with a streak of brown across the middle. Feathers ruffled in a cool sea breeze, briefly revealing the reason why no one would ever see Surge in the air.
There was a too much scar tissue, muscles and tendons missing. There was a story there, caved out from wings in a deliberate act of cruelty. War never ended, not even when the fighting stopped.
Surge laughed loudly, wings shaking with the motion. A Raichu wasn't a 'normal' Pokémon that would appear in the wild except for a few rare instances. It took a third party to create a Raichu. It was an event, something that had to be chosen.
Surge leaned back, the bottom of his wings brushing against the ground. Sailors, civilians, and pokefans skirted past him, carefully not causing any trouble. There was a reason why no problems came to Vermillion City- No one wanted to deal with Surge when he was riled up. Though nobody had ever seen him truly riled, it only took a look at the wings to convince them it would be a bad idea.
Just like a Raichu that could store huge amounts of power in its cheeks, Surge had a huge amount of energy in his body, always bouncing and ready to move. There was no person in the world who wanted to get into a brawl with a seven-foot man that could lay you and most of your Pokémon out with one punch.
Koga stood, ignoring Surge's curious look. All he wanted was some fresh fish-
Surge was in front of him like lightning. His personality was magnetic- some of the trainers in his gym were his old charges from the military who had decided to follow him across the ocean to an entirely new region. People found themselves drawn to that huge smirk, no mater how much he might laugh it off. Koga scowled darkly at the bigger man- who vanished when a brawl began to break out with bright eager eyes.
When Surge came bursting back towards where Koga had originally stood with all of the energy of a bolt of lightning and path just as wild, the older male had already vanished.
"Thank you for listening to my story."
The Pokémon Fan Club Chairman was an old, old man. Whatever color his wings were, they had since gone grey with age, unable to support his weight half as well as they once could. That didn't mean he was stupid, or slow. He just loved Pokémon- though you would never find any pictures of when he was young.
If anyone asked, he would simply state that he had already been old by the time cameras had been invented, which certainly brought about more then one startled look! The old man smothered a laugh as he slowly made his way to the edge of Vermillion City. Wild Snorlax loved to sleep along the edge of the peaceful city. He had helped raise a few of those Pokémon-
He and Mr. Fuji were currently having a contest to see who could raise and help the most Pokémon. Though Mr Fuji, being the shy person he was, would never claim it was a contest.
He laughed to himself, a few feathers falling from his wings to drift to the ground slowly. Oh yes, what a wonderful time it was to be a Pokémon fan.
"Instead of hoping for the happiness of just your Pokémon… Can I get you to wish for the happiness of all Pokémon?"
Mr. Fuji has no wings. Blaine watches his old friend as he pets a baby Cubone's head, his shirt creasing along empty slits to allow wings to push out. He once did, Blaine knows. He had seen his friend with wings, back when they were younger. The wings were made of feathers, that glowed with an odd, purple energy. He was a psychic type user then.
They disappeared a few years ago. When Team Rocket was beginning to rise in power, and Fuji had been one of their scientists. Blaine doesn't know all of the details- but he knows that Fuji eventually quit Rocket, and no longer had any wings.
His entire personality did a complete 180 after that. Where Fuji was once arrogant, cold and demanding, he had suddenly softened. Became kinder to Pokémon- Blaine didn't know what caused the change, but he was glad of it, if only for his friend who was so much happier away from the laboratory.
Sometimes, Blaine fancies, he could see new wings sprouting out of his friends back- a ghostly black, insubstantial and faintly shimmering. It wasn't possible however- Ghost Pokémon had their own weight to them, and real ghosts didn't exist… right?
"Lovely weather isn't it? It's so pleasant. ...Oh dear... I must have dozed off. Welcome."
Long leaves sprouted from Erica's back like a tangled growth of a grass Pokémon's long leaves. Like an Oddish's leaves, they hung from her back, carefully plaited with flowers to create a more beautiful, graceful, serene look.
Sabrina snorted dryly at the thought. Honestly, Erika was always so 'peaceful' and 'calm' and so… flowery. She must've had some condition as well, because Sabrina could see her dozing off in the sunlight. Erika's wings rustled softly, a flower falling gently to the ground.
Erika looked like a Oddish like this- sleeping through the day, but becoming far more active at night. Sabrina tapped her fingers on a doorway, staring up at where Erika dozed. Like the plants she tended, Erika was just as delicate. The temperature, the water, the amount of soil and space- All of them changed her strength.
Erika yawned sleepily, blinking slowly as a new trainer came up to bat to challenge her- And just like a flower opening its petals to the sun, she changed. Black eyes lightened, and a quiet voice rose in shouts as Pokémon battled back and forth.
As soon as the beam of light passed by, she curled up next to her sleeping place, ready to sleep once more. Fluctuating between an open flower upturned to the sun, and a flower in the darkness waiting for dawn…
Sabrina turned away, missing Erika's contented smile as she soaked in both praise and sunlight. Erika in turn, sleeps through the danger that besets her city.
Up on the top floor of Celadon Condominiums, Game Freak members discuss their day and wait for the next player to come by.
"Very well, I shall show you true terror as a ninja master! You shall feel the despair of poison and sleep techniques!"
Koga's wings are hidden from view. Well, Surge thinks as he pretends not to notice Koga crouched on the rails edge and looking over the city, they weren't exactly hidden- it was just that nobody knew what their colors were originally. The dyes that Koga had used to make himself blend in with his surroundings had long since seeped into the feathers, mutating and changing to their current pure black.
Really, Surge wishes he could actually get close enough to touch the wings, and glance at the feathers. Most types at least have a different feather structure, even if it's the coloring that changes between people.
Koga shifts in his position, calm, steady and poised to swoop down on some poor unsuspecting person like the ninja he was. AT least he kept most of his creepy antics to himself, though he did insist on practicing whenever he could- Surge swore that half of the traps laid in his gym were for Koga alone.
Koga leaned forward, wings outspread to catch the wind and allow it to keep him balanced. The top of his wings, where the strongest of the bones were located, shone with some dark liquid, never quite fully erased. Probably poison. Ninja's man. Always Ninjas. Who knew what they thought or did? Though his kid at least was nice in an enthusiastic way.
Koga's head abruptly twisted to the right, as he jumped off his perch to look like a imostly/i normal person even with wings that had no distinctive patterns. It was part of his mystique really- the unknown factor of being something that no one knows who he is. What his past is- what his history or personality is at a first glance.
Though Surge supposes there's enough black Pokémon out there to be mistaken for Koga's wings, though one probably wouldn't look at him a bit closer and reconsider whatever Pokémon they had in mind.
Still, the feathery black wings of unknown factors suited the man who never revealed his intentions or his thoughts. A black feather blew past Surge's nose, and faded into the slowly growing night, as Koga finally vanished to somewhere only he would know.
"I am the Karate Master!"
Karate Master Kiyo had once been the gym leader of Saffron City. He and his students had trained hard, their wings as beefy and as brawny as their arms. He swallowed his pride as he stared at the entrance of the old fighting dojo.
Just because a scary psychic/ghost trainer had moved in, didn't mean that he was willing to give up his position. Even now, he trained his body and his students (slowly, so slowly dwindling) hard, wings and fists moving in quick combo attacks against Pokémon and human alike.
Though… he had heard of a very cool cavern within Mt. Mortar, perfect for training…
Wings, a bright pink of a Tyrogue perked at the thought, as he loudly announced that he was going to train in Mount Mortar and everyone else could go home if they wanted.
He never saw the determined look his weakest student had on his face as they volunteered to take over the Dojo.
"Hmm? Quit Mimicking?"
Copycat has no wings. To be more precise, she was born with no wings. There are hundreds of different kinds of wings hanging up in her room, sorted neatly and ready for if and when she needs to use them to mimic something.
Mother and Father click and tut, but tell her they are proud of her talent. She continues making more wings, studying them in depth and learning what can and can't be substituted for a lesser quality- you can't pretend to be Lance if you have a Golduck style wings after all.
When she hears about Ditto's, and their ability to morph into any shape, her eyes lit up and she immediately embarks on a journey to find a Ditto who would be willing to be her wings.
Copycat would rather be anyone but herself, a lonely child without wings afterall.
"I have had psychic powers since I was a little child."
Sabrina wings are a bug-type, which Erika can't help but find just a bit funny. The bug Venomoth wings flutter lightly every so often, shedding a light powder of poison onto the ground. Perhaps that is why so many avoid her, beyond her psychic mind powers that she likes to show off every so often.
Sabrina used both of these facts to completely terrify anyone who even thinks about coming in to challenge her. Oh, certainly, there are a few people who are glad to enough to study underneath her, but even they don't remark on her wings.
It might be why Sabrina will never approach a person of her own will. Like a bug, she'll buzz close, sometimes annoying, sometimes gorgeous, but only under her own violation. It took some work to coax her any closer then twenty feet. And despite Gloom's insect-attracting qualities, Sabrina unfortunately isn't actually a bug.
Sabrina turned, fixating Erika with a glare. Erika smiled back serenely as the woman stalked closer, telling her off as her wings shuddered in agiation. The powder was beginning to coat the air a little more, Erika noticed distantly, covering up a yawn.
The Venomoth wings glisten beneath the light, gorgeous and deadly at the same time, Erika notices as she drifts off to sleep once more. Just as long as her friend didn't feel like she was being pinned beneath a glass cage to be peered at and looked at, just like a butterfly, she could be coaxed to fly a little closer.
"My fiery Pokémon will incinerate all challengers! Hah! You better have Burn Heal!"
Blaine's wings are fiery and hot, and every time Fuji looks at his friends wings, he swear he can feel the heat pouring off of it. It's silly of course- only Moltress has actual flaming wings. But the flaming patterns of a Rapidash running spring to mind every time Blaine's wings even so much as twitch.
Fuji sighed as he sank a little lower into his seat, eyes on the man who laughed uproariously. The flames shimmered across his back softly, a quiet little candle flame. When the challenger began to battle though-
It was like watching a bonfire come to life. The gold-edged feathers ruffled, rustled, and spun, creating an illusion of flames chasing you down. And just like those flames, Blaine liked to live his life loudly and proudly. Blaine, if you asked him, claimed to have a different pattern of wings before he saw Moltress and it led him down out of the mountains.
There weren't any pictures, and most of Cinnabar Island had moved in after the Gym was built. Fuji took his friends words for it, as Blaine smirked confidentially behind dark shades. Quiz questions were thrown out, one after the other.
That alone could convince him that his friends wings had changed- fire-winged people were rarely known for their smarts. Though that was a bit of a disservice to others-
Blaine laughed uproariously, wings shimmering with fire.
Fuji knows he claims that Blaine's wings are that of a Rapidash, but he can't help but think that perhaps that isn't it entirely.
"Keep your nose out of grown-up matters... Or experience a world of pain!"
Giovanni is a hard man to pin down. Petrel leans against the far wall, watching the mighty leader of Team Rocket stare down the newest challenger to the gym. He can spot a whisper of red hair in the shadows, heading outside, before it is forgotten and ignored as unimportant.
What is important are those grey wings. They seem plain, ordinary- a simple ground-type wing. They weren't as narrow, nor as beaten up as most rock-type wings, but they weren't really made for getting off the ground either. They spread out behind him, a wide, sweeping grey edged with black.
Like the heavy, thick plates of a Rhyhorn's side they protected the Boss's back. Petrel shifted his own wings, dyed black with a giant R on them. All Team Rocket members did so, showing their loyalty to the very boss who wiped the floor with the kid and sneered slightly as they backed away.
Just like a Rhyhorn, it is grounded against any sudden flights of fancy. Giovanni doesn't change his mind, oh no. He's far too good for that. He just lets any new electric changes to his plan sink into him, roll over, and vanish with a smirk because he's smart and he doesn't need to change.
It will be later, when Petrel watches as his boss leaves without a backwards glance, abandoning everything does he remember that a Rhyhorn doesn't care about anything. Nothing except itself, charging straightforward through any other plans and hopes and dreams until it exhausts itself to sleep- or death.
"Your Pokémon will be at my mercy when they are frozen solid! Hahaha!"
Loreli's wings are made of solid ice. Bruno props his head on his hand, watching as the delicate, gorgeous looking wings shimmer in the daylight. The deep blue-white of glaciers spring to mind, as powerful, deadly, and delicate as a Lapras shell.
She tosses her head back, a smirk on her face. The see through wings shift with a low groan- they aren't really meant for flying, and like Misty's water-type wings, are meant for underwater flying instead. They wouldn't melt beneath water, but vanish instead.
They flick out gracefully, as she adjusted her glasses. Red hair, a surprising match to her icy wings, flies back as she calmly regards the Elite Four room. She's a little antsy, moving from side to side as she paces. But she is also calm, and as deeply hidden as the mighty glaciers she loves. She paused for a moment, before turning. Bruno remains silent as she looked at her gear.
Loreli is worried about her home, which may or may not be overrun with Team Rocket members. Lance, uncaring about the situation, refuses to move out, and they, as the Elite Four, cannot leave without telling Lance.
Like a glacier, Bruno figures, she is slow to make her decisions. She knows everything will change depending on what she chooses- and she will not make her decision until she is good and ready.
When Lance is defeated for the first, second time, Bruno is not surprised to see her make her choice, like a ice floe split by Moltress's flaming wings.
"Through rigorous training, people and Pokémon can become stronger! I've weight trained with my Pokémon!"
Unlike most people who have a set of two wings, Bruno has four. Like a Machamp's arms, they sprout from his shoulders and back, giving the impression of a giant man with enough muscles to beat you down with a single punch.
Loreli has seen this in motion. When a foolish challenger dared to attack Bruno himself, the four wings had moved as independently of each other as a Machamp's arms and knocked the challenger right out. They were brawny as well, Bruno weight trained every day along with his Pokémon. And just like Machamp, he trained his wings to take on pounds of weight, building up muscles.
He could stand flying the longest among them. His wings would take turns, one set flying before switching to the next set. It was joked that he didn't even need to land- he could just continue fling forever up in the air. Bruno would always smirk and shrug, before returning to his weights.
There was no need to talk- motion would do his talking for him. He lifted weights and Pokémon, he got into wrestling matches with his machamp and won- Bruno trained himself and his Pokémon at the same time.
Just like a true fighter- just as his wings proclaimed, he always wanted an equal battle with his opponent, be it human or Pokémon.
"Oak's taken a lot of interest in you, child! That old duff was once tough and handsome!"
Agatha's wings are the thin membrane of the Zubat family. It's a mark of how crafty and smart she is, the dark coloring indicative of the type of life she's lead. Or been forced to lead. It's hard to tell when Agatha says nothing and simply watches.
Or well- she seems to watch silently.
Bruno remained uncomfortably wedged in his corner as Agatha paced around practically breathing fire. Like a Zubat, she seemed to be completely silent until you managed to get on her particular wavelength (or in this case, temper) and then she never shut up.
As Agatha, the oldest of the Elite Four in quite probably the world, started on rant number nine hundred fifty-nine about Professor Oak and his inability to recognize how weak he had gotten and how stupid he was for wanting to create a Pokedex.
While Bruno could agree that the Pokedex was unlikely to ever be completed, he wasn't sure if he could agree with the rest of Agatha's statements, of which there were more then one ranting about Professor Oak's handsomeness and charm.
Her wings, too old to really support her weight for more then a few minutes, flapped in agitation, as she spun away, muttering darkly. The edges, run ragged with time and wear, fluttered in the self-made breeze. She stormed out as abruptly as she came in.
The worst part of Agatha is, Bruno figured as he carefully crept out of the corner, scary ladies like her were around every corner waiting to ambush you.
"I still can't believe my dragons lost to you!"
Red watched Lance through hooded eyes as the Champion of the Elite Four stood before him, wings rising above his head. Lance, unlike Red, had always been destined for greatness. It had been marked from the moment he was born that he would rise to power. That he would become great.
Rising above his head were a pair of Dragonite Wings. They wrapped around him like a cloak- a cloak of power, ready to attack at a moments notice. Lance stared down at him, impassively, impressively reaching for a pokéball. The image would forever burn in his mind, until three years later he would repeat it with his own challenger.
But later wasn't now, and now was pulling out pokéballs to fight and claw to victory. Lance pointed directly at him, yelling commands at his Dragonite, who moved at supersonic speeds to attack. Red could barely keep up, he and his Pokémon moving to dodge attacks.
As pressure built, Lance began to crack.
It took a massive amount of care to raise a Dragonite, a long time to build it into a Pokémon actually capable of flight. It wasn't like a Magicarp that had to be protected and coddled until it grew into something worth having, but it was smart, intelligent- and Lance was quickly realizing that he wasn't going to win.
If Red cared to look into slightly panicked eyes, he'd see the despair and anger, followed by firm resolution. He would've realized that Lance was only doing what he thought best, gliding on the winds of trouble, far above where it could strike.
Red was tearing him down from his high-and mighty place to show him the flickering, desperate lights of people dependent on a Dragonite to guide them home.
a/n: In the original Red and Green games, or Blue in America, you're actually supposed to be able to fight Oak. He has a Tauros, Exeggutor, Arcanine, Gyarados, and one of the starter Pokémon. So I gave him Gyarados wings to signify how strong and powerful he was, but he easily forgets stuff as seen in the games. Anyways, I hope this was as fun to read as it was to write! Don't forget to leave a review, and I'm going to do my best to work on other regions if anyone is interested in reading more.