Pokemon : Raison de Faire
Author's Note: This is my first posting on . As such, I'm not exactly tuned into the various idiosyncrasies this site is accustomed to, and for that, I apologize.
Written by Charlie Nabokov
"Prof?"
He knocked again.
"Prof? You there?"
A voice came back after a long moment, muffled and particularly weak behind the heavy door.
"J-just…. Just a moment!"
Maurice sighed and lit another cigarette. Another minute wasted, he thought. He laid back against the landing railing as the pitter-patter of feet came through though the iron door. On occasion, a voice streamed through.
"Why is that there? Who ordered that? Where's that form? Why me…"
Several minutes later, the door flew open.
Panting terribly, sweating profusely, totally disheveled, stood the Poke Professor Oleaster.
"What… is it…" She said between breaths.
Maurice waved. "Yo. It's the day."
"W-what day?" She wiped her brow.
"Trainer day. You know, the one where you hand out Pokemon to the Pallet kids so they can become Masters?"
"Is that today?"
"Yes. About four years late, but yeah, it's today."
The prof stood to the side, shaking her head. "Ugh, I'm guessing the news told you the Kanto lab is open again." She sighed. "Why don't they tell me these things? They could have sent a memo... Anyway, forgive the League for keeping Pallet Town without a Professor in the interim and..." Her head tilted. "Why are you smoking? That's bad for you."
Maurice took a long puff. "It's your business?"
"Nevermind, just come on in. I'll have the lineup ready in just a moment." Oleaster shuffled back inside, doing her hair back up as she walked. Maurice leisurely followed.
The Pokemon lab was a fairly disastrous wreck, regardless of standards. The various diodes and meters that measured all sorts of variables across the lab had mostly shut down from disuse, their glass fogged with dust and gears and mechanisms behind them rusted. Thousands of inactive Pokeballs lay over the floor, all originating from an egregious crack in their container at the northeast corner of the main chamber. The floor itself was covered in a rainbow of stains, most of which came from Pokemon, judging from the color disparity. A great majority of the windows were cracked open and their glass strewn in front of them. And beside them, vandals drew their own opinions of the place in bright, carefully drawn caricatures of the old professor, most a little more than vulgar. Maurice took in all this with another puff, and a dissatisfied sigh. To be fair, it was four years after the lab was abandoned with Oak's death, and twenty years after Red first went through the master circuit.
Oleaster had meanwhile gone behind a pile of piled junk, piled for various reasons of piling, left by the northwest wall and started to pull on an opaque cylinder rolled behind it. "Forgive me for the mess. I just *oof* got in-" She pulled with her all her might, forcing an inch out of the thing. "Got in… two months ago."
Maurice puffed again. "You're that new huh?"
Oleaster pulled again, producing a pathetic groan. "H-help please?"
With Maurice's help, the cylinder was dragged out of its piling place and set out in the center of the hall. Upon inspection, the wheels on the bottom were rusted heavily, and barely operable. At the object's cap was a glass dome, covering a mechanism that held three specific Pokeballs in place. Oleaster collapsed against it, borderline whimpering.
"Why the hell did they do this to me this close to Trainer day?"
Maurice took another drag.
"I mean, it's not like I'm some sort of flunky," Oleaster continued. "I'm a good student, I did my work. I got a degree in Pokemon sciences for crying out loud."
She inadvertently pointed to one of the unscathed walls, pointing specifically to a frame with her degree on it. The glass was smudged with ash.
She flipped her mop of a haircut back. "They couldn't have given me any sort of warning, oh no, they couldn't have. Or even any fanfare. I was dropped here, pretty much. There wasn't even a reception. They're just scrambling to churn you kids out like bloody toys, and they needed someone in the spot this year."
Maurice took another drag.
Oleaster continued, her blue eyes fogged and dulled. "This title is really supposed to be the best thing you could get. Professor of the Kanto region… Even the bastards at Silph Co. would have been jealous of you if you got it! But no, now it doesn't matter anymore."
If Oleaster were to look, Maurice had wandered off, back to the doorway. Unfortunately, she was a bit busy.
"It doesn't matter because everything is based on the numbers, the quotas! Nobody cares enough to see if that Rattata is in the top bracket or not; they just wanna see how many bloody trainers they can push out on the bloody market!"
Oleaster panted from her tirade, eyes bulging and muscles tense. On the other side of the building, Maurice stared out the doorway. He spoke up. "Um prof?"
After a few pants, she sighed. "What is it now?"
"There's a bitch on your lawn."
Sure enough, when Oleaster came to look, there was something occupying the Prof's rather expansive lawn. A girl dressed in expensive fabrics and designs that barely covered her, stained with grass and dirt, with elaborately braided blue hair that lay out of order, and a rather smooth and unblemished body that lay in a rather unflattering slump. A Houndour was sniffing at her raised rump.
"And a Houndour." He puffed. "What're Houndours doing here this time of year?"
Oleaster watched the scene, utterly mortified. "W-what the hell happened?"
The girl started to stir, and almost immediately saw the dog sniffing her rear. She quickly stood up and threatened the poor thing with her fist. After a brief stumble, she started looking over herself. In no time, she started to cry.
Maurice smiled slightly. "Dunno, but hey, there's our other master."
Oleaster did not bother to answer. She ran out of the door frame to the poor crying girl and draped her with her lab coat. "Are you alright, sweetie? What happened?"
The girl continued to sob, even as she was led inside. While most of her noises were of a blubbering, unintelligible mess, a few words escaped, although not enough to form anything coherent. She collapsed on a folding chair laid out by the prof with a rather a rather audible rattle. Maurice followed along, keenly interested in this new arrival.
Oleaster knelt before the girl and gently stroked her hand. "Th-there there, sweetie. It's alright. What happened?"
Finally, a coherent statement came out. "M-my… my clothes…"
Oleaster raised an eyebrow. "Your clothes?"
Suddenly, the girl screamed. "MY CLOTHES ARE RUINED!" The sobbing returned immediately, turning into a bawl before long.
Oleaster shirked away, a little perturbed. "Well, um… I-I have spares… while I wash them for you."
The girl's bawling turned about face into utter seriousness. She rose from her chair and almost tore off her wears and threw them at the prof. She crossed her arms. "Quickly, before the stains get ground in."
She stood buck naked between Oleaster and Maurice, the prof utterly shocked and blushing tremendously, and the boy smirking, but the girl did not notice him yet. He lit another cigarette as the prof struggled to say something.
"… B-but…"
Screaming returned. "Before the stains!"
"A-alright. Be back in a moment." The prof hurried to an elevator and headed underground for the laundry room.
The girl, believing firmly in her isolation from anyone else in the hovel, laid back lazily in the folding chair with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. "God, I love free laundry."
Maurice took a puff. "Yo."
All that confidence was shattered with two letters. She fell from the chair and looked frantically for the mean boy who could have been peeking at her. She instead found a rather ragged and unkempt brown-haired young man puffing on a half-lit cig, amused by her antics.
"I suppose you do this to all your caretakers."
She scrambled to her feet and covered herself. "P-pervert! How dare you!"
"What? You have a problem with me seeing your lady bits?"
"Y-you're a boy, and a tramp at that!"
"Name's Maurice, by the way. Introductions are real nice, aren't they?"
The girl looked desperately around for a shower curtain or similar to better cover her lithe self from prying eyes she expected on the tramp. "Why the hell should I give my name to peeping tom like you?"
He puffed again. "Well, for one, I'm a bit more of a gentleman than you realize. And for two, common courtesy is lacking these days and needs a nice reboot."
Oleaster returned with several utilitarian cloth articles, with that pant back and her cheeks red. "Here you go, sweetie, clothes…"
The girl looked and the clothes and grimaced. "How could I wear this junk? It's so ug, my god!"
The prof shrugged. "Th-that's… all I've got."
In return, her new friend groaned. "Whatever. As long as I can wear my old outfit after it gets washed. I swear, people these days…"
Maurice smiled to the prof. "You've got a winner here, doc. Pick of the litter."
The girl stuck her tongue out. "Perv."
Prof nodded slowly to each and wiped her brow. "F-forgive me for being quiet, I'm… I'm adjusting to many things." She looked to the girl. "So, sweetie, what exactly brought you here? I doubt you're a native."
"Weeeeell… I don't remember much, actually. Last thing I remember doing was having an argument with mom. Then, total black-out. And then I wound up on the lawn."
Oleaster hustled her way to the coffee maker copiously placed next to the pile and piling on the counter and poured herself some black brew. It was morning, after all. She gingerly sipped her half-warm brew, letting a contented, blissful smile come to her face. "Ah~. Who's your mom, sweetie?"
"Aurora."
Black brew spattered across the floor. Oleaster was justifiably stunned. "You're an Elite Four kid?"
Maurice chuckled. "Wow. I'm amazed. A royal in Pallet Town. This day gets better and better every moment."
Oleaster reached for a cloth to wipe up her mess. "W-well, how much of that argument do you remember?"
The girl leisurely dressed herself in the meanwhile, her back turned to the boy. "I think mom said something about today being a 'learning day' and something about responsibility. I can't remember anything else though, my brain hurts too much when I do."
With poise and relative calm restored, Oleaster headed to the cylinder and knocked on the top. "Seeing as this might be trainer day, I think the answer might be obvious as to why you-"
A pokeball sailed through an open window and bonked the poor woman on the head. She came down like timber in the frozen north.
Both kids raised an eyebrow to this. "Hm?"
They approached the body of the fallen woman and checked on the ball first. The red top had been scratched with a rather peculiar symbol: KG, written with a grunge style in mind, or maybe the difficulty of scratching KG on a pokeball created the style. It was hard to tell. In it's clutches lay a note.
Maurice thought for a moment as he stared at KG. "Hm… I've heard of that name before…"
The girl tore the paper out of the ball and fluffed it, preparing to read. "Achem…"
Maurice puffed again.
Addressed to Shino,
"That's me!" She added happily.
By the time you read this letter, you have already been dropped off at Pallet Town and have become at least somewhat acclimated. KG would like to inform you that we are the ones who knocked you out and took you from the Pokemon League under orders from our employer. We take great pride in this, and in making sure our victim knows this. It's kind of funny, actually. Our employer, Miss Aurora of the Elite Four, wants you to understand that there is no way to negotiate a way back into the League without all eight badges of the Kanto League and a battle record for each member of the Elite Four.
Shino's pace slowed to a crawl, as she processed the contents.
She is apparently tired of having to deal with your lazy rear and wishes to make you earn your spot in the league. If you attempt to access the family's monetary or Poke accounts, you will find your password no long works. Any attempt to curry favor with family members or gym leaders in the region will be fruitless – our employer has informed them not to help you under any circumstances. Any attempt to negotiate with us will not lead anywhere fruitful. In fact, negotiating with us might just mean certain death, or possibly a more dire situation. In any event, it is recommended to follow through with Miss Aurora's demands, for your own health.
Best of luck and best wishes from Miss Aurora.
Signed,
Fawkes; West Kanto KG Battalion
With that last line, Shino could feel the tears welling up. "My… my mom… threw me out? How c-could this happen to me, of all people? Me?"
Maurice snapped his fingers. "I remember now: KG is Kokuo-Guroshi. Regicide!"
The sob stopped for a very brief moment to process that. "R-regicide?" She collapsed and just bawled everywhere. A fairly violent bawl as well, featuring great amounts of angry kicking and noisemaking. She would have drenched the floor in salty tears, if she had any left, as she had spent it all for clothing sympathy. It was painful to watch; a 16 year-old girl, booted from her lavish home, dropped in the most rural part of Kanto, screaming and wailing, blubbering and moaning about her miserable life.
"Why?" She would cry to the heavens, hoping some benevolent being might answer her. "Why is… m-my life so miserable? Why do I have to associate myself with these… th-these common trainer bra-ha-hats~?"
Oleaster brought herself to standing in the meantime. "Watch for flying pokeballs…" She mumbled hysterically. She shook her head clear of the hysterics and saw the regressed Shino, provoking only a sigh.
"What's her problem?" Maurice asked.
Oleaster shrugged. "Culture shock?"
"Now I gotta wear ugly nurse clothes and make money and w-w-walk everywhere! This is so unfair!" The blue-haired baby wailed on.
"I dunno if that's culture shock. Certainly something…"
Ending Notes: So yeah. Leave any comments you want about this piece, I'm not shy to negative or positive.