a/n: i've been working on this one for quite some time now, probably since mid-july. i've just never been quite happy with it. then i decided to split it into parts, and it gradually grew on me. i was finally ready to publish it after meticulous reorganizing and "killing my babies."
title: an unfortunate encounter
word count: 1702 (not including the middle blurbs)
pairing: LyraProton
rating: T-for language and creepy stuff.
disclaimer: i don't own pokemon, nor do i own any of the quotes between paragraphs. you can thank my horrible year in chemistry last semester.
entropy (or an unfortunate encounter, part one.)
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To his dismay, the sun rose again to alight dawn on his defeat. Humiliation caught on like wild fire, he decided. He'd trade it for the world of for living without the world. He thought pressing, seething solitude wouldn't be so horrible.
As long as it wouldn't be another Radio Tower defeat for him.
And this was years ago, too. Still, he was surprised that the planet continued to spin on its tilted axis. For him, it had been drifting off into oblivion—his oblivion—because he had become so absolutely numb lately that he could have been pelted with rocks and taken no notice. He had eyes that couldn't see, buds that couldn't taste, hands that couldn't feel the scars cluttered on his palms, one strike after another, and his scrapbook of pain and failure. …Except that he felt no pain. It was an allusion; something he diverted from his mind. Archer taught him that on one of the rare occasions he actually listened to his sociopath of an interim boss.
The universe would continue in its death spiral. This is called entropy.
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[ Entropy is a thermodynamic property that can be used to determine the energy available for useful work in a process. ]
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Normally, he didn't feel quite so…paralyzed with doubt. Ariana always noticed his overconfidence-going-on-arrogance and made it clear to him her distaste for it. He laughed in the face of impending doom, thought himself utterly invincible (although the pattern of blemishes along his arms and legs only proved he was just as susceptible to blades outside of his greedy reach). He took everything he could and some things he couldn't. The universe was a castle built for him and him only, he thought, custom-made, with doors that outlined him, stretched to meet his tall, muscular figure. He was beyond the limits of excessive narcissism…so much so that it changed into something even viler.
But not now, for someone had taken a boot to his cocky stance, torn his seams ragdoll that he was, and crushed him like an insect underfoot. A mere girl had triggered his relapse.
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[ These processes reduce the state of order of the initial systems, and therefore entropy is an expression of disorder or randomness. ]
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"Hello, Proton," she smiled. Adorned in pigtails and a balloon hat that so betrayed her, she bore innocence the way bakers bore their delectable treats: served on a golden platter. A crown on immaturity rested invisible atop her childish head. She—in reality—boasted to be seventeen years old, but to him, appeared not a day older than thirteen, the damned baby face.
He grimaced at her outright, safe for the blank expression that stubbornly refused to remain on his unenthused features. "Lyra."
"Long time no see. How have you been?" Words that spilled from her lips glided to him so sickeningly sweet it made his stomach rise. He felt nausea mounting him the way overly ambitious trainers mounted their birds in hot pursuit of a new battle in a far-off place. On second thought, the analogy made him sicker.
"Fine."
"Are you okay? You don't look so good…" Her eyes narrowed in doubt, genuine concern splayed over her youthful, animated face like a Jackson Pollack painting. Funny enough, Proton found comfort in this sort of art. It reminded him distinctly of his chapters in life: the crime scenes, the confrontations, and his knife. His knife reminded him of himself too, every way he observed the matter.
She should have started running right then and there.
"I'm fine," he insisted. Then he thought for a moment. Last time he locked eyes with Lyra had been the source of his night terrors—the cause of his torture. Archer made sure Proton would never forget that he heavily contributed to the mess, the final collapse of Team Rocket. Proton had wounds to prove it, wounds that his eyes could not shake themselves from, and he seemed to find new wounds every day.
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[ Entropy is the only quantity in the physical sciences that seems to imply a particular direction of progress, sometimes called an arrow of time. As time progresses, the second law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of an isolated system never decreases. Hence, from this perspective, entropy measurement is thought of as a kind of clock. ]
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Lyra and Proton were not in a cave. It was an open field, approximately half a mile from the Ruins of Alph. But no one was around. It was quite early, almost five o'clock in the morning, and each of them wondered silently what the other was doing here. Proton checked his surroundings cautiously with peripheral vision. Fight or flight did not have to be activated in him; it was him. He grabbed a Pokéball from his belt: a Raichu he had recently stolen back in Cherrygrove.
"You look anxious," Lyra said, pouting. She too pulled a Pokéball from her bag, simply following his lead. Dances, she knew, were often led by the men. "We don't need to fight, you know."
The Raichu—called out of his slumber—appeared before the girl, eyes ablaze in certain anger that must have been his nature. In its own vicious way, this Pokémon resembled Proton for which there were no words. Lyra stared.
"I need a fight," Proton said.
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[ "I thought of calling it 'information', but the word was overly used, so I decided to call it 'uncertainty.'"
-Claude Shannon ]
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"He's new," Lyra commented. "Or, at least, I don't remember him from last time."
"He isn't new, but he's mine now. Isn't that all that matters?"
It was a somewhat cryptic response, but it didn't take Lyra long to decode it. "I'm not going to battle a stolen Pokémon! It's not yours. You need to give him back to his trainer!"
"He doesn't remember his trainer," Proton said, his pupils smirking right along with his mouth. "No need to worry about that. For all he knows, I caught him myself. Pokémon are stupid."
"You haven't changed." Lyra gritted her teeth. "Phanpy, I need you!" And the blue-tinted, happy-go-lucky elephant companion burst from his resting place to join his trainer in the open air. Sensing her determination, he reared up for battle.
"I'm perfectly comfortable with who I am, Lyra." When he said her name, he spat it into the morning sun. She had caused his embarrassment after all, the memories that wouldn't fade away in the coming years, changed his entire identity as one who once could be considered scary and cruel. She shaped him into the man he was today: sadistic, unfulfilled, and in her opinion, dangerously confused.
"I pity you, and I'll beat you again. You never learn, do you, Proton?" On the contrary, she spoke his name gently, sympathetically, trying to show him she represented—no, embodied care. She would change him if it was possible. She harbored an unspoken duty to change the world for the better. She could add him to the list of guided souls, whether purposeful or not.
Proton ignored her warning and subsequently her question. His face flashed though, showing Lyra that—for a moment—he took the words into consideration. He shook his head; he rattled his brains. "Raichu, take down."
The oversized mouse flung his limber body ay Phanpy with force enough that Lyra cringed. Phanpy braced himself, bowing his head slightly, and when the Raichu struck, Phanpy was thrown back about five feet toward his trainer, strong feet dragged along the dirt creating ridges. Raichu returned to his feet, wincing. He too took a certain amount of damage. Proton pursed his lips.
Electricity would be rendered utterly useless, he knew. Take down again would be too risky, given Phanpy's disciplined defense. Proton, however, still had a trick up his sleeve, but he would have to act on it fast.
Lyra shouted, "Rollout!"
Proton frowned. "Dodge it," he ordered his Raichu. "Then Double Team!"
Raichu staggered a second, and then shot out of the way of Phanpy's crushing spin-move. Without a second to spare, the mouse disappeared into eight other mice, lined up identically around Phanpy, and the poor Pokémon raised his trunk in confusion.
Lyra cried, "Dig!" and her Pokémon obliged, nestling himself underground as the clones shot forward for what looked like a powerful tackle attack. The clones vanished as Raichu clattered to the ground. Phanpy emerged from behind, and before Raichu could react…
"Phanpy! Rollout!"
This continued on for a while. Lyra had the cunning of a woman much older than she. Proton felt every time he plugged up the many loop holes, Phanpy surprised him with something unforeseen. He thought bitterly to himself that maybe a psychic Pokémon wouldn't be such a horrible choice.
He could teleport away…
No, no, no. He could not lose to this girl anymore. He would not accept defeat yet again. Raichu stumbled, a hit away from fainting, breathing hard, clutching at his side, hardly balanced at all on his tired, unsteady heels. Phanpy, on the other hand, stood strong, and Lyra seemed nervous but definitely cheerful.
Proton glanced back and forth anxiously, a totally desperate man hanging on to the last glimmer of shining hope. It wouldn't be long before…
"Earthquake, Phanpy!"
The fatal blow knocked him away, burnt his spirit away like dry kindling. He felt around in his pocket for his prized possession—his favorite blade—as Raichu fell to the ground with a thud, knocked unconscious for now.
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[ "Living organisms preserve their internal order by taking from their surroundings free energy, in the form of nutrients or sunlight, and returning to their surroundings an equal amount of energy as heat and entropy."
-Albert Lehninger ]
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"Return, Phanpy. You did a good job!" The foolish girl rid herself of any protection. She even kissed the Pokéball after Phanpy returned inside; cherishing the bond she had with her team, her friends—...
Tools, Proton thought. They were nothing but tools. And anyway, they were all created individually for his downfall, no matter how grossly adorable they might appear. Proton did not withdraw Raichu—instead, left him lying slumped over on his side; a fetal position. Similarly, Proton wished he too could roll up into a tight roly-poly ball and die, but he had a duty. He had to ensure that no word of his loss would ever slice through the still air. He would take care of his problem by eliminating the direct cause. Wasn't this the logic Archer once tried to instill in him?
"Take care of your Pokémon," Lyra ordered, glaring at him, a hand carefully resting on her hip bone. "You shouldn't mistreat him after a hard battle!"
"Don't tell me what to do," he replied. He made no move to withdraw the fallen mouse. Like Proton, he would be hung out to dry for his blatant failure.
Lyra wandered over to tend to the aching Raichu. She held in her hand a diamond, or some type of prism that gave off the light surrounding it like a mirror. Proton guessed it was a revive. It must have been expensive.
And that's all it took.
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total entropy is constantly increasing
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