AN: I do not own Pokemon. I do, however, own Mr. Rocco, and all other human characters that will be introduced. The plot? Not completely my idea. It is a good mix of the Mystery Dungeon plot (also something I don't own), and various other ideas (some my own, some not). As I have not yet finished my Mystery Dungeon game, I cannot say whether or not the reasons for appearing on the island in my story will be the same as in the game.
Enjoy.
There is a man that lives in our town by the name of Mr. Rocco. He is an old man – the oldest that has ever taken residence here. Some people don't like him, and are just waiting around for him to die. Some people are fascinated by him, and want to construct a monument in his name. And some people – well, some people just don't really give a shit one way or the other. I happen to fall into the latter category, or at least I did before one day last fall.
You see, I was what you call a 'troubled trainer.' I just didn't see pokemon the way other people did. I had never tried to build a bond with one or anything like that because, honestly, I thought it was pointless. Pokemon were dumb creatures, whose only point in life was to obey my command. They didn't think for themselves; they only thought about what I wanted, when I wanted it, and how they would get it for me. I used the pokemon I caught to do low-level crimes: vandalize a wall here, steal a loaf of bread there… Little things. And if they got caught? I'd let the police take them. It was no skin off my bones. After all, they were just dumb pokemon, and it wasn't like I was going to miss them.
One day I was doing my usual scope of the town, trying to see just what I was going to be stealing next, when I found myself in Mr. Rocco's yard. I knew both he and his pokemon were old, and I was eager to use the new rattata I had just caught. Little did I know that sometimes old people are less naïve than they look. Before that rattata could even get my prize back to me, the old man's prehistoric ninetails had us cornered, and the cops were on their way.
I managed to get myself out of spending the night in jail by making up a lie about seeing the rattata breaking into the house and trying to stop it from taking the item. Somehow the police believed the lie; however old man Rocco did not. He demanded I do some chores around the house for him to make up for the crime he was sure I committed, and the police agreed.
Mr. Rocco is a strange man to say the least, in both his actions and appearance. To me, he seems like a living skeleton; like something that crawled out of the earth not very long ago. He has wispy white hair and even whiter skin that folds across his face and body as if it's falling off his very bones. He doesn't seem to have a sense of smell, so the stench that comes from not showering for a week at a time radiates off of him like a vileplum's. He even drools a little.
Add this to the strange things he does – sleeping outside as much as he can; strange rituals involving his pokemon; bizarre diet of forest herbs – and you get a man that not a lot of people actually know a whole lot about. I had the privilege of learning about his life while working in his house, and I learned a lot of lessons through the stories he told me.
There is one story that I'll never forget. I had gone over to his house as usual to do the day's work, however when I got there he commanded me to sit and listen - there would be no work done today. He told me the reason there would be no work done was because it was storming outside, but whether or not that was the real reason is something that I'm not sure of to this day. He claims it to be a true story, but that's also something I'm unsure of. Either way, I certainly learned from it a lot about him, pokemon, and life.
