Forget Me Not
Prologue:
Wake Up
Note: After much talk with a fellow writer, and slight collaboration on ideas-and permissible borrowing of his character for this story-I have taken up a Nuzlocke Challenge, via writing, since it would take me forever to create even one comic page for the comic challenge. :P But, all in all, I blame this friend of mine. Well. I can't blame the entire thing on him. But he is an enabler who cranked up the dial to eleven. Then broke it off. So the ideas wouldn't stop. He's terrible like that. I love it. :P
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon in any way, shape, or form. The only "ownership" I can claim are the personalities and my interpretation of how Pokémon look in a more realistic light, but other than that...yeah, I don't own anything on them. XD I do, however, own my original characters and writings, unless otherwise stated. In an exceptional case, a few special OCs belong to their respective owners, I'm merely borrowing them for the story that's to unfold. I'll point them out when their time to show up comes. :3
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"My whole world turned upside down. I can adjust."
-Dr. Temperance Brennan, "Bones"
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They asked questions…a lot of them. She honestly couldn't remember half of them, and she didn't think she had an answer for even a quarter of them, never mind half.
Where are you from?
How did you get here?
Where's your team?
What's your name?
No trainer license, no registration, no team, no nothing, except for whatever she had on her person when they'd found her. She'd looked like a drowned Rattata, they'd said, coughing up half the lake just outside New Bark Town, soaked to the bone, disoriented and dazed without a clue as to where she was. She didn't even have half a clue as to who she was.
Blood-soaked clothes, a sodden hat, combat boots, heavy coat, no memory…
A mystery. Or so they called her. She didn't think so.
Or so she wanted to believe that.
There was no full-scale Pokemon Center in New Bark Town to recover at, none that could support everything she needed, so the closest facility with help needing fulfilling was the Pokemon Lab. It was there she'd been taken. It only seemed fitting, considering it had been Professor Elm who'd found her in the middle of his field research. The authorities came with a physician, questioned, poked, prodded, gave up, left. The report would be filed, but for the time being, nothing could be done, they'd said.
Well, it seemed like they were giving up. At least they didn't take her with, dangling in cuffs and dipped in confusion. That left her feeling uncomfortable, bone-soaked, and alone with the older, bespectacled man. After a bit of awkward shuffling about, she was in borrowed but dried clothes, and a small office space-turned-makeshift-bedroom in the lab, left to sort through her belongings, which the police hadn't done.
Something told her that that alone was odd. She didn't know why. But it did.
The form fitting brown coat she had was laden with pockets. In the pockets, she found objects of interest. The obvious thing that she thought the police should have done—and was glad they didn't after doing it herself—was several questionable items that made her question who she was.
The largest object in question was a leather-bound and worn journal—slipped in a plastic bag for protection, had she been expecting a dip in the lake?—with confusing entries and even more confusing hand drawn sketches. Did she do them? Then she found a wallet, something the police had asked about, although she feigned she didn't have one. Her gut told her to evade the question. She wasn't sure why, but she trusted it, even if she didn't understand. Inside it was sparse. Some cash, a few pictures, similarly protected as the journal, these with lamination, although only one featured her, the rest were faces she didn't recognize. Did she steal it? There was an ID in it, although the face in the picture—her face, she was sure of it—was younger, not scarred, more sure of who she was.
Another questionable object was case-bound, electronic, flat-screened. Communication device, she concluded. Cellular phone of some sort. But it was dead, damaged by the dip in the lake. Useless. Keys, perhaps to a house, a car, an office, maybe? No key chains, nothing personal. No leads.
Everything seemed normal up until the knives. One was made of bone, no…a fang. A giant fang, serrated near the leather hilt, the natural edge forged in metal. It stung the moment she tried to run her finger over, and she ended up flinging the thing away from her, sucking at her offended digit with wide eyes. Then she noticed that faint whiff of something…burning. It took her only a moment to realize it wasn't her finger, no, but the metal on the fang-blade itself. Silver, her mind had provided, along with instinct to shy away, especially after taking a peek at the second knife. All metal, leather handled, forged from steel, with a caricature carved in the blade of a wolf-creature under the full moon, but the edge, it was the same as the fang-blade: silver.
Maybe she was more a mystery than she would have liked.
Weapons, a dead phone, pictures with faces she didn't recognize, a strange book. And the two necklaces around her neck.
A personal charm that held no familiarity to her, other than a faint resemblance to the tattoo on her left arm. And the second, a pair of dog tags, both bearing a name she also didn't recognize, but was willing enough to snap up for the time being until she knew who she was: Lupin Ferus, born 8 April 1985. And a captain, apparently. But captain of what, she had to wonder.
It wasn't much, but it was something. That was certainly better than nothing.
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