Just a quick author's note: This takes place in a region of my creation, using official pokemon, and plays a semi-realistic and slightly dark spin on the world of Pocket Monsters. It begins later in the journey of Cedric Gates, and the story will tell of him through flashbacks.
As of 9/19/2011: I have done many revisions to this chapter, in order to show the matured characters in a slightly different light, and to make Cedric's opponent slightly tougher.
7/17/2014: I can't believe it's been 3 years since I did anything with this. like, very little of this is cannon anymore. Like seriously, a fedora? I had Cedric wearing a fedora? (well, to be fair, this was long before the animosity and association with neck-bearded MRAs). But hey, a lot of this is going to be remedied in my new story
Coming Soon: The Gates Family Curse
Her Goal: to follow in her father's footsteps and become the Steel Gym Leader of Alva Region, a savage and dangerous ex-penal colony.
Her Obstacle: The curse put upon her family because of her great great grandfather's sins.
It's going to be wild ride. :P
This disclaimer is for the whole series: I do not own Pokémon. I own my characters and this tale, however.
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don't read this first section... it actually shouldn't even be here, it was just notes for a preliminary scene that I never wrote.
Cedric spends forever waiting in line for registration. During this time, some guy is trying to strike a conversation with him.
Snug (who's species is not mentioned), holding onto his shoulder and generally showing that she luvs him, has her short legs kicking at his lower back in boredom.
Cedric is paying much more attention to Snug than he is to the guy with the Pikachu on his shoulder.
Cedric eventually gets to the counter.
"Trainer Card please?" Asked the unusually perky attendant manning the reception desk of the Avla Grand Prix.
Cedric Registers for the Grand Prix. He presents his Trainer Card to the receptionist (trainer cards have all the information on the Pokémon the trainer has caught, such as species, nicknames, OTs, and what type of ball they were captured in, and whether the trainer got them through capture, a gift/bought, a or a trade).
The woman at the reception desk mentions that he has one five Pokémon which have original trainer numbers different from his own. (Shelob, Delilah, Tiberius, Fancyhat, and Chase. She doesn't mention which tho.) This is don't to make sure that the trainer does not use any stolen Pokémon.
The woman says that she recognizes the name of the OT of three of the Pokémon (Lorelei Gates) from somewhere, but does not recall where.
She then tells him to head to blah blah at blah blah time, where the placement battles will be held.
The Pikachu dude wishes Cedric good luck, and Cedric promptly tells him to "Go fuck yourself, no one else would with how fucking annoying you are."
Cedric sets off, to get a shower and change clothes.
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Start reading here:
"Save the super flashy bullshit for the later rounds, you don't get no points for them in these untelevised preliminaries." The ref sneered at us, her nose turned up into the air. "C'mon, get, take your places." My opponent and I moved to stand on opposite sides of the close-but-not-precise to standard battlefield. I hadn't known that these battles were meant to thin those with a lack of ability from those who would rake in the ratings. I wouldn't have dressed up as nice if I had. I definitely would not have worn my best fedora.
I ran my fingers along the six spheres secured to my belt, testing their textures. The first one was smooth and polished, etched with intricate designs, a luxury ball. The second was a dusk ball, green and black in coloration, the heavy weight of what it contained pulled on my hip, a comfortable feeling I am well used to. The third was a great ball with a pair of raised ridges on it, no special sensations to go with it. The fourth was a normal red and white pokeball, but touching it made my hand erupt into pins-and-needles. The fifth resonated a cool and calm sensation from its blue and yellow surface. The sixth and final pokeball was hot to the touch, and would vibrate every once in a while. I have more Pokémon than just those six, most serious trainers do, but league codes prohibit carrying more than six at any given time.
"Two Pokémon each, single battle." She continued, straightening her ponytatail and cracking her gum, "Try not to rip up the field, 'kay? We have about two-many more of these to go through in the next week." She then left our field, clipboard tucked beneath her elbow, towards the tent set up between the four battlefields so that the snooty refs wouldn't have to bear the horror of a light drizzle. We trainers are not permitted such luxuries, but we wouldn't complain, we were used to the horrid weather in this region. I was still angry that my clothing had already soaked through to the skin, however.
"Um," the other trainer, a runt with a baseball cap atop his mess of misshapen hair, said, "Who is going to send out their Pokémon first? I'm used to there being coin flips."
I glared at him, before grabbing the second ball on my belt, feeling the familiar weight of it. It is the Pokémon I use most in battles, and by far my most powerful. "I'll give you the benefit, it looks like you will need it." I tossed the ball towards the field's center.
"Um, thank you?" The kid blinked at the dark cloud and the way the ground shook slightly when my Pokémon's ball released its contents. Then the empty ball retreated back in my direction, ready for my trained hand to catch it.
Crawler, body of rock and iron, rose onto his hind legs and let loose a steely battle cry. He is a long-bodied Aggron, a rare subspecies that is found only one place in the world. To think, I caught Crawler, probably my most hard hitting and most used combatant, by complete accident. The steel monster turned his head to look over his shoulder at me; he then motioned his head up at the sky.
"I know it's raining. Let's keep this battle short, shall we? Offensive tactics, save our special techniques for another battle, just muscle your way through." I then yawned, having not slept the previous night for various regions, namely the lodgings which I was using.
Crawler nodded before tilting his head, letting a loud pop resonate through the damp air. I usually don't give that many commands to my Pokémon in battle, not the ones I regularly use at least. Somehow, I acquired a reputation among trainers for giving "speeches" to my Pokémon at the start of battles. What a load of crap. I just tell them what I want done, and they understand what they need to do, it is how I trained them.
My opponent, who was more than couple years my minor, sent out a Bellossom. It was a darlingly cute little shit with a skirt of leaves and a pair of flowers atop its head. It looked kind of nervous when it spied its opponent: the over six feet tall, eleven-hundred pound, monster that had full intention of crushing the little twit.
Crawler tilted his head to the other side, eliciting another gruesome pop out of his metal joints. He really was not enjoying the rain; I pity that poor grass type's soul.
I stared at the opposing trainer for a second. He seemed a little more nervous than his Pokémon. He stood there, licking his lips and twitching his fingers, analyzing the situation. "Well? Are you going to make a move?" I shouted at him, shifting the position of my fedora atop my damp blond hair, "I want to at least give you some chance at inflicting damage."
The guy, Barry-something I think his name was, startled at my outburst. "Use s-stun spore, Devon!" he commanded his little Pokémon. The pathetic little thing began wobbling back and forth, releasing a cloud of yellow powder from its skirts.
"Don't kill it." I cautioned him, a bored expression plastered upon my face like the rain was doing to my bangs. Crawler released a metallic sigh, and lumbered forwards, metal joints popping because of the moisture in the air; I am going to need to spray him down with some WD-40 later.
"Keep away from it, Devon! Aggron are slow, it should be simple to evade!" the other trainer shouted needlessly loud. He was obviously more into this battle than I was.
"Not this Aggron." I muttered, watching Crawler's tail swish in preparation. The thing about the long-bodied variant of Aggron's evolutionary chain, is that they are longer, taller, less bulky, and, most importantly, faster than the normal, more common variety. Crawler lunged forwards, somewhat halfheartedly, and raked the sharp, metal claws of his right paw across the little flower Pokémon.
The poor thing never stood a chance; it went rolling across the field, back towards its trainer's muddy shoes. I was surprised when it didn't faint on the spot and pushed itself back up, fear replaced with rage. "Get some of that health back! Giga drain!" he shouted. The little thing leapt, higher then I would have expected, and landed upon Crawler's head, right between his forwards facing horns. Suddenly the Bellossom began to glow in a green aura, as did most of Crawler's upper body.
I yawned yet again; I really have to sort out my lodgings, maybe get out of that crappy motel with the stained sheets and the perpetually clogged shower drain. Should I get a room at the expensive hotel that is one of the big investors in this tournament, or should I sleep outside like true trainers do: in a heap with all their Pokémon.
I looked up from my thoughts and saw my metal beast rearing his head back into the air. Recognizing the gesture, I warned him, "Don't make a big crater, I don't want that prissy ref yelling at me." He grunted, taking it into consideration, before smashing his iron cranium, with plant still clinging on, against the grassy field. Clods of wet sob and mud flew in all directions, Crawler had decided not to listen to my suggestion. The steel type pulled himself back up, and turned towards me, irritably standing on all fours. He was covered in wet, soggy earth, and did not look happy at all. His expression was daring me to tell him, "I told you so."
He narrowed his pale red eyes at me.
I glanced my blue eyes up at the other trainer. He seemed almost at a loss for words. "De-Devon?" he sputtered, staring at the gash in the earth. He then held out his pokeball and shot the thin, red recall beam towards the crater, returning his Pokémon. "You are going to pay for this." He told me, reminding me of all the other idiots who had made the same promise over the years and never come through with it. "Thrash that bastard, Damien!"
Had I not been Goth, and absolutely adored the Pokémon he sent out when I was a kid, I would have been afraid of what he sent out. The tall, lanky canine lowered its head, lips drawn back in a snarl, revealing sharp teeth. It's black hackles rose between the exterior rips on the creatures back. It snorted, smoke flowing out of its nostrils, before lazily drifting past its curled horns.
"Damien, flamethrower!" the kid shouted, pointing at my metal beast.
"You know what to do." I told Crawler, a glint of excitement appearing in his eye. This was a technique we could rarely use. My beast waited until the Houndoom's flames had completed tickling his sides, turning the metal of his body a glowing red, the rain turning to steam upon contact. I smirked.
"Quick, Damien, surround yourself in a smog, make it have to pay if it wants to get close!"
I gaped as the Houndoom breathed toxic fumes into the air. "Are you fucking retarted? This is the greatest tournament in the fucking region, and you don't understand that poison is useless against steel? No wonder we are having these preliminary matches. You fucking suck and would be an embarrassment to humanity should anyone ever think of putting you on a television." I heard Crawler pop another one of his joints, his armor was rapidly cooling. "Just do it, I don't care anymore."
"Quick, before it gets to you, release another flamethrower!" The Houndoom drew in a breath of air, preparing to ignite it. But it never got the chance.
Suddenly, Crawler shot forward, at a speed much faster than the majority of his species. He slammed his red hot body against the canine, singing fur and cracking rips. He then grabbed one of the fire- and dark-type's horns, pulling its body beneath his own weight.
The canine's scream disappeared as quickly as it began; the air had been pushed out of its lungs. I quickly withdrew crawler back into his duskball, as to only injure and not kill the Houndoom. I still like them.
The kid stood there, mouth open, tears running down his cheeks. I called from him from across the field, "Let me guess, you're not a native of this region, are you?" I didn't wait, nor did I expect for him to respond, "There is something you must know about Alva. Here, the code is survival of the fittest. Only the strong survive. Kids don't set off to train when they are ten, like it is suggested in cartoons and video games." I paused, watching the ref approach under an umbrella, "When a child sets out from home here, they are dead."
"The victor is the brutal dude in the oppressively black outfit." She paused, surveying the damage. "My field…" she then shook her head, suddenly smiling, "Someone get this wimp's kid to the center, it looks to need surgery; definitely not an Alvan grown animal." Then, as other referees and bystanders urged the young trainer to return his Pokémon, our ref said to me, "You, tell me your name and you're done for the day."
"Cedric Gates." I said, pulling the luxury ball from my belt.
Sudden recognition washed across her face. "Ain't you that kid who that monstrous fucking Torchic in the Ravaged Valley tournament a year or so back?"
I smirked, ego growing. "My fame precedes me."
"Damn, how did the receptionist who scanned your Trainer ID not recognize that? You would have been marked down to skip the prelims." She shook her head, jotting down some notes onto her clipboard.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Prelims are designed to weed out the slightly skilled from the cannon fodder. If you already have a reputation as a badass mofo on the competitive battling scene, then you can skip right to the actual tourney. You definitely wouldn't have to stand in all this rain, getting your fancy hat soaked."
"That would have been so much simpler." I looked up at the clouds above me, feeling the rain splatter onto my freshly shaven face. "Oh well, rain isn't all that bad."
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Well, that is the end of chapter one.
-Wolfdude131