If there was one thing to Azalea that Viridian lacked it was the relaxed and calm way that people carried on with their lives.
Bugsy didn't quite know what it was. Perhaps it was the proximity to the Pokemon League, or perhaps it had to due with the fact that it was a meddling place, bright eyed youngsters just starting on their journeys, mixed with veterans looking to defeat Blue and go on to face Lance. Bugsy supposed that having to accommodate both new and old trainers would shape a town.
But, then again, his hometown had literally elected a Slowpoke as its Pokemon. As much as he was taught to love the 'poke, and its deliberate way of doing stuff, as much as he had heard the story about yawn and a drought, he still prefered Bug Pokemon. He might have been young, but as the utmost expert on that kind of Pokemon he had tried multiple times to change the official Pokemon of the city. Not with much success, it turned out. Kurt always vetoed him. And trainers who came for the Pokeballs out of berries rarely if ever stopped at his gym.
He could almost imagine them scoff, a bug gym? Are you kidding me? It made it all the more satisfying when Bugsy showed them the move he had developed, he had called it Fury Cutter, a touch of the dramatic in the name, maybe, but that was the benefit to developing the technique. He got to name it. Either way there was nothing quite as satisfying as seeing a trainer's smile crumble as his scyther cut leaf, hyde and rock all the same, not giving any time for a break, just hitting over and over again.
Bugsy was humble enough to admit defeat when it did came. He enjoyed a good battle, even if he couldn't help but feel somewhat cheated when someone just came with a fire type in tow and blasted the arena with flames. All the way back to the walls of the building. Scyther could dodge bursts, and his butterfree could fly above them, but when the flames came in a wall, hazing up the air, and making breathing difficult there was little he could do.
Though at the moment he didn't exactly have access to the butterfree either. He carried with him Metapod and Kakuna. Bugsy had always been curious to the process of morphing that happened inside a cocoon and so he had taken to putting them side by side - though he could swear to hear grumbles of disapproval, caterpie and weedle hadn't exactly been on the best terms - and gently, oh so gently trace their every detail. Every protrusion and dent, every touch of the light.
Bugsy could get lost in the process. Sure it would be easier to photograph it, maybe even set it up so that the shutter was clicked every hour automatically. But Bugsy wasn't fooling himself, it was as much an exercise in enjoying himself as it was a pursuit of knowledge. He found it comforting to be surrounded by his pokemon, belly in the ground, legs upwards, sketching.
And besides photography failed to grasp every single detail and change. As life like as a photograph was, it didn't catch the small stuff. Bugsy might have been but a teen, of body and of mind, but he was a very perceptive one. It was in the scrawled notes and arrows pointing to small changes he did his research.
Bugsy doubted it would hold up with the authority of Oak and Elm, if he ever was questioned about it, but luckily none of them was clambering for his title. Nobody was really. He was the Pokemon Bug Expert. It wasn't exactly something known to bring him much accolades, but he was proud of it nonetheless.
The only time that he had ever been called for his opinion on bug type pokemon had been when Elm had been trying to understand breeding conditions of Pokemon. He had called Kurt who had told him. He had been very excited to discover Pokemon hatched from eggs. Bugsy hadn't known what world the Professor was living in, the daycare could have told him that, come to think of it, most trainers who settled down could have told him that. But no, he had gone to Bugsy.
What his Pokemon did when he wasn't looking was their business. Bugsy had long since passed the silkworm phase where he just stared and stared for hours at the box. He had a vague notion of the "how and why", and though it made his cheeks red thinking about it he knew it to be part of life.
But Elm had called him not only because he had discovered, by Ho-oh that such a thing as eggs existed, but also because he had thought that as fast as bugs grew, bug eggs would be the fastest to hatch. He had been right, Bugsy always had a heated up corner of his Gym for them to lay on, but Elm's next request had crossed the line.
He had asked him for a few eggs of his own. And while his research might have merit - bug expert or not, Bugsy didn't know about that. - And it would help increase the reputation of bug Pokemon, even if only in the academic world, he had refused. In fact he had straight up yelled at Elm when he had gotten the chance.
Maybe it was silly of him to yell like that. Yet Bugsy had seen The Fly enough times to know that bugs and science experiments often went wrong. And he couldn't shake the idea of Elm, scalpel in hand, slowly inching towards the tiny defenseless eggs. The professor had seemed warm and friendly enough when they had talked. But Bugsy knew better. Everyone acted differently around insects.
It was one of the things that attracted him the most about bug Pokemon. Nobody remained indifferent to them. While dark types could scare, or pass unnoticed and steel types had an attitude that made it nearly impossible to ignore them, bugs needed no such loud cries. Just their very presence, their appearance, made people react, and not necessarily in the same way.
Some reacted with fright - all it had taken was him trying to show Misty the bugs to realise that she was scared of them. Some reacted with disgust - something that he would never understand, and then there were the ones who acted as if bugs were pretty coo. Bugsy enjoyed those the most.
In a way Bugsy lamented that as young boys grew, so did their taste, from caterpies, spinaraks and weedles to Dragonites and Tyranitars. To him his scyther was cooler than any dragon type could ever be. And how strong would a Tyranitar be? Surely its scales would crack under heracross' U-Turn or under the strong grip of a Pinsir?
Speaking of, Bugsy turned to move. One thing that bug watching and catching had taught him had been patience. Sure Falkner could claim the same with his birds - Arms extended to the talons - but none of that compared to the feeling of bugs just passing through the sun and into the shadow - inches from him and yet so totally unaware. He loved to just sit and watch them pass by, crossing his eyes into following them.
While Ilex was right next to home and a good enough amount of insects climbed its tree branches and walked its foliage, and while the National Park had his official seal of approval, and he had won their Bug Catching Contest so much he didn't partake anymore, it was in Viridian Forest that he most liked to catch them.
Far gone were the days where he used a net. Though he could occasionally spy a boy in shorts, catching them, and that always made his heart swell, he had changed his method of capture. Why wait for them to come to you? Spreading some bait, he could more easily catch them - even more so when he had a regular shipment of Kurt's special pokeballs. It was similar to the Combee catching methods Aaron used, in that he spread it over tree sap and all around the floor and waited. But it wasn't honey.
It was a rather foul smelling thing indeed. Whenever he walked into Saffron and the customs official asked him if he had anything to declare he was always rushed along. Benefits of mush. Bugsy couldn't help but have a smile at that.
So he had come to the Viridian Forest. It was not the first time he had skimmed on Gym leader duty. Every Leader in Johto, and most in Kanto did the same. After all, they had their lives to live.
Why it had been in Viridian Forest that Falkner had caught his Pidgeotto, and inevitably where there's birds there's insects. While Wingull did feed on fish, those were a rarity. Most bird pokemon fed on bugs.
It was a visceral brutal display that made Bugsy sick to his stomach whenever he just so happened to catch it. As the face of the National Park - or at least the Bug Catching Contest, on the National Park he knew better than anyone about the order of things. Bugs were weak to Flying, as Falkner loved rubbing in whenever they did meet. And yet despite that superiority Pidgeotto faced the sharp blades of scyther and stood a respectable distance. Bugsy didn't blame him. He had make it perfectly clear who he'd place his Poker chips on.
It wasn't as if Bugsy was tired, for the journey from Goldenrod to Saffron had provided him with a chance to rest. It was just that the scene - ever so peaceful, just him, hearing the crick crack and rustling of leaves as bird Pokemon passed, a small sketchbook by his hand, bugs crawling all around him to get to the tree sap he had enhanced with his personal mix, it felt nice. He felt like he could close his eyes and rest for a bit.
It wasn't the most comfortable of beds, loose leaves that crinkled whenever he shifted, a few pebbles stuck in his his eyes felt heavy. He had come in search of Beedrill, the largest hive of Beedrill was situated here, so he was set to find a few lone ones, but he fought a losing battle against sleep. While he kept his ears wide open to the soft buzzing that would indicate one approaching, he had yet to hear any.
To some it would be their biggest nightmare, sleep in the ground, covered by insects, letting them crawl over themselves. But to Bugsy it was just relaxing. He didn't find it particularly weird, Didn't trainers sleep in near their Pokemon all the time? To him it was no different than relaxing in a hot tub after a stressful day. And his Scyther stood guard, in case anyone got cheeky.
Bugsy trusted that scyther with his life, it was his ace, his strongest and yet loyalest friend. He was the closest thing to a brother he had, and yes he was aware of how crazy a statement it was. But no words were necessary, only a nod, and they understood each other.
Were they siblings perhaps they'd sparr and get angry at each other more often as it stood, it wasn't the fact that Bugsy held the power in the relationship inherently that stopped them from fighting. It was their keenship. They were, in his mind equals.
There was a reason for his olive green shorts, and for his low stance. It helped him blend in. And while that provided him with some shelter, and some safety, it wasn't the only reason he did so. The fermented musk didn't assault his nose, not anymore, he had grown used to create it. But it was a dead giveaway of his position. While it would be subtle, easily confused with a thousand other droppings and other scents in the forest, he knew better.
Not to the greatest detective with the nimblest feet in all of Kanto and Johto. To ask otherwise would be pointless. She always found him. And in many ways he was glad.
He was in for a awakening, as he closed his eyes he only hoped it would be the touch of a finger, and not the tip of a sword, or a smoke bomb this time.
Now at peace, and bidding the inevitable, he closed his eyes. She would come along shortly, but for now, rest.