Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon.
-|Daddy's Little Girl|-
When the subject of the Fuchsia Gym arises, people think Koga, the predecessor who left one, two years ago to hone his skills as a ninja and now resides within the regal walls of the Pokémon League. Upon further prompt, the next answer fired back will undoubtedly be poison, the signature type of the gym and redolent of Golbats' dagger-wings and garrotting toxins which never fail to strike with fearsome accuracy. Lastly, after a brief furrow of an eyebrow and crease of a forehead, their eyes will light up and one definite name will leave their lips.
Janine.
It is a well-known rumour in town that Koga had always yearned for a son; a heir to carry on the family name and bring honour to the prestigious title. They never outright stated it while the ninja himself was in the vicinity, of course, for they would surely meet a gruesome end as Miltank fodder if the all-powerful poison-type specialist were to so much as catch a sliver of the venomous gossip that slithered past their lips. However, once in the clear, words such as son and disappointment and daddy's little girl would leap into the air, the smoky trails of sin rapidly dissipating into the darkness of the night.
But darkness is where she lurks, and every slip of the tongue feeds a fresh morsel of knowledge to the daughter of Koga.
She sequesters herself within the invisible labyrinth of the gym, turning the gargantuan too-symmetrical sparring arena inlaid with tatami mats and cold stone into an unforgiving place of nigrescence shrouded in harsh fluorescent lights. She isn't stupid, of course, and neither was her father, the original mastermind behind the ingenious design of the gym.
The brilliant brightness is to disorientate – largely due to inaccurate stereotyping, a layman unacquainted with the art of defence would hardly expect one as highly skilled in ninjutsu to dwell in the light – and once the prey has been seasoned to lend it a more distinct flavour, the obstacles are to trap, evaluate. Encompassed within the complicated network of passageways that are visible only to the acute eye of a ninja, those with the weaker backbones, or lack thereof, will falter, even crumple to the ground in despair. To add spice to the otherwise bland mixture, she has implemented a new feature: all acolytes are to impersonate her.
Why even bother? One often wonders, peering tentatively into the Janine-infested hall as a chilling shudder runs down their spine. Why bother putting challengers through such rigorous trials?
It's all to attract attention, of course. It's all for the recognition. It's all for the addictive vertigo of hope that her father will relax his stern mouth into a ghost of a grudging smile, or at least allow his steel eyes to flash with approval; a beguiling wish of a naïve fledgling that engulfs her heart and spurs her on to kick harder, jump higher, sprint faster. The strenuous tasks that require a significant dose of both physical and mental strength act as a convenient filter, cleansing the challenger lineup that faces off against her of weak, worthless scum she has neither time nor patience to deal with.
Evaluate, stalk, trap and finally pounce. The four rules of acquiring prey.
The ones that manage to reach her are always worthy, but not enough. They go down with the puerile ease of dominos, collapsing into heaps on the sandpapery tatami and cuddling their fainted Pokémon, poisoned by deceptive shadow attacks they never saw coming.
Staring down at them with penetrating black holes for eyes, stony magnetic orbs of ice that know no mercy, Janine will perch in her defensive stance on the enormous web spun from gossamer-thin threads turned indiscernible in the intense fluorescence. Impassive, she will turn away as though unable to bear the sight of failure, determinedly ignoring the painful throbbing of her aching muscles, but even after her Ariados has been recalled into its Poké Ball, her self-spun web of lies and deceit remains.
Father would be proud, a voice whispers, a lethal shuriken dipped in the most virulent of poisons and sugarcoated with equally envenomed saccharin finding its mark in her heart.
She only knows one reply as she dissolves into the darkness, into the abysmal depths of training, training and more training.
Liar.
((Published 2 October 2013))
A/N: For the wonderful Minty, aka MintColaNihil. Happy birthday! :D It's very scratchily written, I know. I'll edit it and try to improve it as soon as possible.
Thanks for reading! Please review :)
~TLoC