1.
The first pokemon that Lyra had caught on her own had raised some eyebrows. Silver, especially, had taken it upon himself to mock her choice. She still remembered his condescending boasting that her sweet little sentret would never amount to anything, and that she was a fool to maintain a top position for the little furball on her team. She had named the pokemon Peakaboo after the curious markings on its face; its dark brown coloring split abruptly at the nose into a pristine egg white. For some reason, watching its face change color as it moved its head around had made her think of a game of peak-a-boo. Silver had withdrawn his condescention a few weeks later, when Peaka unequivocally laid waste to his entire team. Somewhere in its unimpressive little body, that thing had the heart of a warrior and all the strength of a tank.
It was a good thing, Lyra mused, seeing as how the little dash of fur, now evolved, was effectively the only thing standing between her and a monstrous, raging, fire-engine red gyarados. Lyra, clinging to her exhausted slowbro with one arm while frantically searching for a pokeball with the other, was stranded under pounding rain in the middle of the stormy Lake of Rage. Waves swarmed around her, on her, pushing her underwater with every rise. She was one ill-timed slip away from from being at their mercy completely. At least it was raining. Her furret shot in front of her, swiping at the gyarados' head to distract it. The red beast screamed in agitation, reeling backward, away from Lyra. Its eyes, red from fury, fixed on its little adversary. "Peaka! Use your thunder attack!" she attempted to scream, over the bounding roar of the gyarados and through the waves splashing into her mouth. The gyarados leapt out of the water, its mouth glowing as it prepared a hyperbeam. Just in time, Lyra threw her pokeball in the gyarados' direction. The hyperbeam struck its target, hard, as Peaka turned in the air and brought down a hammer of lightning directly on the gyarados' head. In that moment, the world went white, and silent.
What the fu - She must have tried to breathe. Her lungs burned as they filled with water. By the time she had consciously registered that she was submerged under the waves, Lyra was already kicking to the surface. Peaka was swimming toward her with a pokeball in its mouth. Her furret was visibly exhausted, but it had taken the hit. It always did. They came to the surface together, and the edges of her slowbro's eyes crinkled with relief. The gyarados was no where to be seen.Thank Arceus. "Fur…" The pokemon whimpered as it nudged the ball into her hand. "Bro…," Her slowbro, Totoro, added. Its eyes, always tired, were really starting to dim. Peaka rolled onto Totoro's tail, pain from the hyperbeam it had withstood still flickering in its eyes. Totoro fixed its face in as much determination as it could muster and started for the shore. Lyra sputtered. The air settled in her lungs and she leaned into Totoro, clutching the pokeball in one hand and steadying Peaka with the other. She was trying to calculate how long it would take her to get to the pokemon center. The waves had quieted, but the rain was still pounding. It wouldn't be safe to fly. "C-come on, Totoro," She coughed. "We're almost there now. We did it." "Slow…," came the dutiful reply, "Bro." She had such a loyal team. They had done so well. When Totoro finally pulled them to the shore, Lyra returned him to his pokeball, softly whispering her thanks. Peaka snorted and jumped on its hind legs. "Fur..?" It cocked its head. A mischievous glow was returning to Peaka's eyes. "You okay?" She asked. "Ret!" Despite its exhaustion, the message was clear. Peaka was going to be okay.
"That was impressive," came a man's voice. Lyra felt her spine bristle as she caught a glimpse of red in the corner of her peripheral vision. Silver. Shit. Her pokemon were in no shape to fight. It wasn't him, though. The adrenaline left her gut like a burst of electricity; She could feel it tingling in her fingertips. This specific redhead was no acquaintance of hers, though there was something vaguely familiar about him. He stood taller than Silver. His hair sprung up around his head like a flame and he had chosen to compliment his largely black attire with an elegant, elaborate blue cloak. With its stiff, high collar, it looked almost like a cape. Lyra frowned. A cape? Seriously?"Yeah," she replied coldly, observing the pokeballs latched onto the stranger's belt. "I guess it was." The man's eyes were fixed on the pokeball in her own hand. He must have known that the red gyarados was inside it. Lyra brought it up closer to him. "We've dealt with some angry pokemon before," She observed, "but nothing like that. I've never seen anything like that." She paused for a beat, observing his calm. In the pounding rain, in the face of so much destruction, he was too calm. Too interested. "Lyra," she offered with a slight frown. "Lance," the stranger extended his hand. She ignored it, squinting at him. "Lance. You wanna tell me what the hell is going on?"
