"Uwahh! Uwahh! W… *sniff* w…where is everybody…?"
There was solace…calm…quiet…
*BA-RAAAAH*
Atop a great, black, sleek creature was a lone person. His long, curly, light-green hair was pulled behind him in the fierce wind, the collars of his shirt flopping about. A spherical necklace bounced about his neck, loose in the stream of air.
The great Pokémon lowered its arms spread outward in ease. Once landed, the young man leapt off, landing flawlessly on his green-shoe'd feet. His viridian eyes faced the great scene laid out in front of him: a great city backed by a majestic landscape.
"This was the farthest we could go, Zekrom," he spoke to the Pokémon. "Hm…it looks quaint enough."
A sweet humming low in tune went adrift outside a small house. A girl set her thick, mussy black hair into a wild ponytail. Her bangs fell around her face, and she smiled approvingly at herself in the mirror. Snatching up her backpack, she began hustling out of the house.
"Bye, Pika! Bye, Pichia!" she bid farewell to a framed photo upon the wall on her way out. "I'm off to work!"
She kicked open the door with her orange shoe. She inhaled deeply the fresh spring-scented air. So much better than Kanto, she thought.
"All right! Let's get to work!" she declared to no one, her feet getting a hop to them. Her chocolate eyes shimmering, she left her small house and set out to town.
"…ey… Hey… Buddy? Are you just going to stare at the…uh…what are you staring at?"
His green eyes blinked. He turned, and then met the eyes of a young woman. She was staring at him inquisitively, but, despite her age, her eyes were wise. They were a warm chocolate, kindly complimented by the black of her hair. He immediately knew she was intelligent, and that she would make a good friend.
No, no. I can't surmise… He discarded the impulse to instantly recruit her as one of his friends. Instead, he shook his head and replied: "Ah… I-I'm sorry. I was…er, wondering if…"
"…'Wondering if'…?" she urged him to go on.
He honestly couldn't think of anything else to say, so he finished with: "Never mind." He began to turn to walk away, mentioning: "No one would listen to me, anyway." He mumbled that in a decibel he was sure she couldn't hear, but he was proved wrong with:
"I'll listen to you."
His eyes widened; his feet stopped. What…had she just said? He slowly turned around to her. Her expression was serious; she wasn't even smiling.
"I'll listen to you," she repeated, although she knew quite well he'd heard her the first time.
For some reason, he wanted to cry.
Inside the café, the two young people sat opposite a booth set by the large, clear window showcasing the busy street. Anyone who may have spotted the two would have thought they were dating, or related. That was how close the two seemed to be. The man had his head on his hands, trying to figure out how to start and how he even got there. He didn't want to mess this up like he had before with other people. He needed to be himself, but…also, more careful with his words. It had been so much easier when he was leader of Team Plasma. So much easier. But…where to begin? His carbonated water sat, fizzing its wondrous bubbles away into the air. The woman sat with her hands cupped around her cup of vanilla cherry-chocolate soda, patiently awaiting his response. They had entered the diner he'd been staring into for fifteen minutes. The cashier had been about to ask him what was up until the girl came. The cashier then surmised he had actually been waiting for his date, and now she was watching the couple with a slight smile. The air around them was serious, but it still had a sort of calming sense, like everything would be all right. Little did the spectator know she had just witnessed the pair's first meeting.
The woman took a quiet sip of her drink, her eyes closing to savor the rich hints of flavor. She lowered the cup, her gaze lifting to the guy's confused face once more.
His eyes went up from the table to her. He noticed her small, green tank-top. It was set over a tight, black undershirt, both revealing her stomach. The green top had a stitching of a Pokéball on it, dull in detail but vibrant in color. It perfectly complimented the stark green over her top. He then figured out how to start the conversation:
"I want to understand."
The girl's ears perked up, and she innocently took another sip of her balanced drink. She paused her response in anticipation for him to say more. When he did not after a few seconds, she spoke: "Understand what?"
"Understand why people use Pokémon the way they do," he immediately answered.
His quick response startled her a bit, but she quickly settled down. She set down the cup, it making a soft noise upon meeting the table.
"And what do you find so bewildering about it?" she prodded, as if she was a psychiatrist.
"The Pokémon are treated as slaves and science experiments inside Pokéballs. Why must so many be subjected to such brainwashing whilst the Pokémon suffer through torment within the Pokéballs?"
She soaked in all he had explained. Has he just been introduced to reality? she wondered, taking another sip. Hmm…I've never drank anything so slowly before… After gulping down half of her tall glass, she directed more words to him: "Do you know the reason Pokéballs were first created?"
"Huh?" the man blinked. "I-I apologize—I do not."
"Long ago, humans and Pokémon coexisted. However, there were always so many new things added to the Pokémon world that scriptures soon became quickly outdated, even after a month, no matter how much time and care were put into making them. Not only that, but there was no complete listing of all the types of Pokémon. Science needed to have a thorough understanding of the world so close to theirs. As such, they created something that could not only hold the creatures, but also thoroughly analyze every aspect to them, including height, weight, and a new aspect: type. There was also a pad made to electronically hold the data transferred from the so-named 'Pokéball'. The device was called a 'Pokédex', and was given to every scientist. The balls were a wondrous invention. Unlike cages and boxes, the new creation did not differentiate between size, weight, or survival in certain areas. It was truly a marvel of science.
"Time went on, and the scientists finally had a thorough conception of the Pokémon. However, they also discovered the Pokéballs domesticated the Pokémon, allowing them to be utilized any way possible, unlike before, where trust and understanding had to be formed between a human and a Pokémon over time and care. This also meant that anyone could hold such powerful creatures, be it for good intentions…or bad. In order to combat those with vile intentions, there had to be those who could fight for 'good' against them. As such, Pokémon Trainers were made, and they branched off to Breeders, Rangers…and Masters.
"After years of research and domestication, battling for justice or just fun, there finally became a set age limit on when a person may be an official Trainer. Consideration towards the human psyche and the understanding of power finally settled on a set age: ten years. As long as the person has adequate experience with Pokémon in a day-to-day basis and has a basic comprehension on societal 'good' and 'evil', a child shall be granted his or her first Pokémon by the region's elite Pokémon specialist and go out into the world at ten years in the hopes of not only adding to the immense database, but also to find himself or herself. It was treated as a sort of…spiritual journey.
"After generations of vying to hold peace in the world, the real reason of Pokéballs and Pokédexes was softened to just a basic right of passage, instead of growing independent through working for science. Adults found treating children as workers too immoral, but they refused to stop the process. They instead found a 'better' reason to explain the sending of their children to Pokémon school and then out into the world. Its original reason still exists today, no matter how much they ignore it. Even the scientists are oblivious to it—those that know are soon disposed of as 'rogue' and deemed dangerous."
The man thought on her last sentence: Was I…"rogue"…?
"Reality is a fierce thing to deal with. Once faced with it, and the realization of never being able to escape it has surfaced, it truly is a trial on the person's psyche. Shall one grow insane? Or shall one grow intelligent by it?"
I…was insane. That was it… I was unreasonable… the man deduced, with a heavy heart.
The woman saw his sadness, and she wondered if she should continue. A-ha. He has a bad dealing with being seen as insane by others. From what he'd told her, she could actually see why. "But," she voiced the rest of her thoughts aloud, "what you told me is quite logical, something that many choose to ignore to ask, even though it may press on their minds. How did you go about answering your own question?"
"I didn't," he said.
"Don't lie—everyone tries to give answers to seem independent." She sipped some of her drink.
"…I tried forcing my beliefs on others," he admitted.
Her chocolate-brown eyes looked up from her cup to him. He seemed wracked with guilt and thought, trying desperately to figure out what went on. Probably, she mentally added to her conclusion. She again set down the cup. "A common route," she commented, "by those faced with the majority believing the opposite of what oneself believes." She took another drink.
"I was wrong?" he asked, with a touch of venom to his voice.
The woman did not waver her words: "No. It was just a route to travel. Quite a brash route, in my opinion, but an available route nonetheless." Setting down the cup again, she kept her eyes closed in intricate thought. "Usually, forcing ideas on people when it's not done in a thorough brainwashing method has negative results without powerful enough forces to back it up."
"So, you're saying I just needed more manpower?" He was fully intrigued at this point.
"Well, while you would still have resistance—if not more so,—it would be easier to conform others, more those who just follow the top dog. They're not loyal, but they're still followers."
"Hmm…"
"One way I've found the most efficient would have to be appearing to be one of them."
"I tried that," he mentioned bluntly and sharply.
"Ah, but did you reveal yourself, or were you just so sloppy that they found out themselves?"
He was silent on that one.
She smirked. "Revealing yourself is only a last-ditch effort, or when you finally have things in your grasp. If they find out themselves, then you should either learn from your mistakes and try again in a more-covert manner, or you were never made to fit the role in the first place."
"I see…" he mused, taking her words to heart. Since his father was gone from the picture, he could always step back into power and not have to worry about anyone else's desires getting into the way. No! That's what ruined me in the first place, he corrected himself, not wanting his overconfidence to take over again. Instead, he belied his awkward feelings and said, "You're quite the strategist."
She smirked, again, her lips turned up in only one corner cockily. "I've had expertise in the field when needed. And, I'm used to giving others advice when they have conflict with the societal rules."
The cashier smiled, seeing the two. Before, the atmosphere had been so tense; now, things were lighter, and it seemed like they were having quite the conversation.
She gulped down the rest of her soda, it going down with a pleasing, burning sensation. He was staring at her, wanting to learn more from her. This woman had answers to the questions he had, to the problems he had yet to unravel.
"Could…could you do me a favor?" he requested nervously. He had never given someone the choice to do something for him—he usually had just gotten what he wanted. After what she told him, though, he knew that giving people an apparent choice gives the illusion of safety and free will, so he went with her advice and acted like how he'd seen everyone else act.
"See? You're learning," she immediately caught on, drying her lips and setting down the cup one last time after examining it for any stray, left-over drops. She gave a straight answer afterwards "Depends, as usual. Go on."
"Would there be any way of contacting you? In case I had any other issues to discuss," he said, leaning forward a bit on his arms.
She looked into his clear, viridian eyes. She would have instantly guessed he just wanted her number or address to pick up on her, but his tone and obvious naïveté proved her normal first reaction wrong. Instead, she answered with a simple: "Sure. Number or address?"
"Er…well…" He was afraid to so-bluntly ask for her address. Would that be normal, or would it be too personal? The fact he had no Pokédex due to his deep hatred for them struck out the "number" option. He had nothing else to choose. Would she understand his predicament?
She caught on, though, her half smirk, proving it. "No phone?" she surmised, leaning back in the booth.
He shook his head. She giggled lightly at his response. "Huh?"
"Hm? 'Huh?' what?" she repeated, confused at his confusion.
"I-I apologize," he stated formally, lowering his head at his immature response. Could he help it, though? He had never heard someone laugh while knowingly in his presence, not even the grunts. Not even…
"Did something surprise you?" she checked.
"…Yes," he answered, with some reluctance.
She put two and two together and let the subject die. Instead, she returned to the previous topic: "Address it is, then," and she pulled out a napkin and a toothpick from next to her. After laying out the napkin, she grabbed the ketchup bottle and squirted out some on her left index finger.
"…Huh?" he blurted, curiously watching her actions.
She dipped the toothpick lightly into the ketchup blob and then made a single stroke on the napkin. It shifted under her pressure, but the stroke came out okay. She repeated the action five times before he could manage the consciousness to say: "Wouldn't a pen and paper be easier?"
She shook her head, still making strokes. "It'd take too long to ask and receive," she added to her response, moving to the next line.
But…you'd have it done by now… he thought, but kept the remark in his thoughts.
She finished in a few seconds more, proud of the stencil work. She sucked on her finger, savoring the taste the ketchup induced on her tongue and the feel in the back of her throat after swallowing the condiment. She simultaneously did so while handing him the napkin, proceeding to lick the toothpick afterwards.
"…What?" he muttered, his eyes scanning the red-lettered message.
She grinned at his response, both corners of her mouth turning up for once. "Hey, you gonna drink your water or what?"
"Huh? Oh…oh, no! Yeah, thank you," he said frantically, putting down the napkin and reaching for his barely-bubbling drink.
She giggled again at his actions. His eyes widened at her laugh, and his heart skipped a beat. He liked the sound of laughter, he guessed. He smiled softly, a s mile that made his eyes sad. He observed her laughing expression, as he took a small slip of his carbonated water. He grimaced when he discovered it had grown arm, making her laugh even more. The act was contagious, for he let out a few chuckles, as well, raising the drink to his lips again. The napkin sat, forgotten, on the corner of the table, its red etchings still visible.
Follow me there.
| 8D | DX | XD | D8 |
FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF.
Okay, so I know there was a lot of fluff at the ending. But, I promise you, I'll try to keep my love for this shipping any too-closeness or N-OOC-ness out of the story even though it's so cute orz. I really, really want to keep this story realistic and make it a "coming of age" story instead of a promo for the shipping. I wanted to portray the Pokéworld realistically through a very-innocent character who was left out of the world, and after I read the whole part at the B/W ending from Looker, I knew he was made for the part. So, yes, they're in Johto. BUT, 'tis not the Crystal from the game or the comics, if you hadn't…already realized that. ^^" 'Tis an old, old OC I had from way back in elementary school. If it makes you feel better, you can pretend she's the Crystal from the games. :'3 I digress. Next chapter up shortly (maybe kinda sorta not really), 'kay?
…I really like the shipping, though...